


Ronja

by EmmySlemmy



Series: Hamster! [2]
Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:25:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 114,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmySlemmy/pseuds/EmmySlemmy





	1. The one with the Aston

Vaguely, as if the voice is coming from a different planet, I register that someone is talking to me, but I am far too preoccupied to really pay any attention.  
«Excuse me?» Suddenly I realise whose voice is talking to me in an increasingly impatient tone and I spin around.  
«Oh! I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't stand here, I should probably be somewhere else and do something... completely different, like do some.. important... work...» My face grows hotter and hotter as I ramble.  
«No no, I didn't- I come over to shout at you for not doing your job or anything, I just.... You've been staring at that car for over ten minutes now, and... Frankly I didn't think girls ever did that unless they were maybe hypnotized or or.. or... high,» he finishes awkwardly. At first I just stare at him, utterly puzzled, before I eventually smile a little embarrassedly.  
«Well.. This is my favourite car, see,” I explain, gesturing to the car. «I don't know why, it's always been. Out of all the supercars, the Lambos or the Ferraris never did it for me, it was always the Astons, they're just so elegant and sleek and... sexy, I guess. I can't even explain why I particularly like the Astons, as I don't know anything about supercars, I mean, I've never even sat foot in one. I've barely seen an Aston Martin in real life before, that's why I'm staring. I walked past one in Camden once but that was a Vantage and was owned by some old, rich cock and... er... are you still here?" I pry my eyes off the car for a moment and am surprised to find him still standing there.  
“Er... yes?” He frowns with incomprehension.  
“I just thought you would've grown tired of my ceaseless jabbering and wandered off by now,” I shrug. The man stares at me unblinkingly, his arms folded across his chest. Privately I pray for a black hole to open up beneath my feet and swallow me up. This man is a complete car nut, in fact he is world famous for it, and what I have done is rant and rave incoherently at him.  
«No, I'm just desperately trying to remember what your name is,» he admits, and to my surprise I see an embarrassed flinch flit across his face.  
“Oh, well, I'm er- nobody,” I shrug.  
“That's rather mean to name a child 'nobody',” he pointed out dryly. I let out an involuntary snort.  
“No, no, I just mean that I um, that I'm-” I stopped abruptly, squared my shoulders and shot out a hand. It was high time I tried communicating in a manner that was understandable. “My name is Ronja.”  
“...That isn't the most common name either,” he pointed out, taking my hand and shaking it.  
“Long story, my mum had an obsession with Swedish childrens' literature,” I waved my free hand. “The others just call me Ronnie, I think it helps them forget that I'm the only one of them who has breasts.» At this he guffaws loudly, showing off his perfect teeth and his childish laugh.  
«I'm Richard... er, Hammond,” he smiles, still holding my hand in his.  
«You know, surprisingly, I did know that.” I return his smile and am given my hand back.  
«You just started working here for this season, didn't you?» He asks, squinting a little as he thinks about it.  
«That's right, I'm a.... rookie tech assistant. Of sorts. Cable woman, really.”  
“Ah, that might explain why I didn't know your name, I do like to think that I know the people I'm working with. Mostly,” he adds, still smiling.  
“Anyway, I'm going to stop... drooling on this DB9 and go.. away... now... And, you know... Work.» I gesture clumsily to the car, then towards the far corner of the studio.  
«Oh, okay, all right, see you around, Ronja,» he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, letting me go. Turning on my heels I have to restrain myself from running across the studio floor, far away from him and the embarrassment. His presence had caught me totally by surprise, as it was Tuesday and the day before the studio shoots normally took place, the presenters were rarely around. I was just there with the rest of the crew to prepare for the shoot the following day. Still feeling like my cheeks were on fire I went back to my job, making a mental note to stay very low and, if possible, avoid Richard Hammond at all costs from here on. The glowing, painful knot of embarrassment lingers in the pit of my stomach all day, refusing to let go. I had made such an arse of myself. And why had I? Because I was star-struck? I scoff at myself at the thought, I am not some fawning fangirl who gets starstruck, am I? Apparently, I am. Sighing deeply I try to shake it off and focus on my job, which basically consists of lugging rolls of cables around for the lights, cameras, sound equipment and monitors. Or coiling the cables back up and put them back into place, or doing odd jobs for the senior technicians in the crew. I had tried to learn as much as I could in the little time I had, and had already adopted the habit of wearing all black and always having duct tape, a torch and a walkie hanging off my belt.  
Later the same day I sit down outside the studio to enjoy a cup of tea, a cigarette and some precious minutes of British sunshine.  
«Hello again!» At the sound of the unexpected voice I jump out of the chair. I have respect for these chairs, I have always regarded them as reserved for the presenters, Andy Wilman or any of the people much higher up the chain than me. The rest of the crew use them freely on every other day, when the 'important' people are away, but Wednesdays they were just off limits. Now I feel like I am trespassing on some VIP area where I am not supposed to be. Which is silly, because it is just a few uncomfortable plasticky garden chairs.  
«Oh, hi. S-s-s-sorry, I was just leaving...» I gesture to the chair.  
«For crying out loud, sit down and finish your fag will you? Keep me company.» Richard says carelessly as he pulls a packet out of his own pocket, sit down on a free chair and lights up. «Sorry if I startled you.»  
«What? No, I was just... I spaced out,» I wave as I lower myself into the holy garden chair again. Silence falls as we both smoke quietly for a while.  
«So I've always wondered... What's it really like working with... well, us?» He asks, looking half curious and half mischievous.  
«Oh it's... good, its fun, I like it,» I nod, trying to avoid ranting any more at the poor man.  
«You just have to say that because you're new, and I'm one of the presenters,» he counters with a boyish, teasing smirk.  
«No, I mean it,» I insist. «I studied media for a few years, its really interesting learning more about producing telly. And its a long way away from what I normally do.»  
«And what is that?» He asks before blowing smoke out between his lips. I frown, surprised that he keeps asking question, that he is showing any interest in who I am and what I have done before.  
«I'm a nurse, believe it or not. I used to work in London, but I just... needed a break, do something else, get out of the city for a bit.»  
«Yeah, sometimes you just need some change in your life. And sometimes it comes along when you don't expect it, whether you want it or not,» he answers sagely. For a moment he stares blankly into space, looking a little sad, losing himself in his own thoughts. Privately I wonder if he is thinking about his own life, the divorce he is just going through. But I have only heard about it through others, rumours from the tabloids, and mentioning it aloud is the last thing on my mind. It is no business of mine anyway.  
«You're right about that,» I sigh. Noticing that I am giving him a look full of sympathy he tries to snap himself out of it, squaring his shoulders. «I didn't expect to see you here today, normally you guys are only around on Wednesdays.» I know why he is here, but I am just casting around for a change of subject.  
«Yeah, I know, I just needed to film a review for a car, last minute thing, replacing another bit. It got dumped on me, the other two were busy. Jezza is busy being a dad and James is very busy being madly in love,” he grumbles.  
“What, James May?» I raise an eyebrow, unable to hide my surprise.  
«I know, right? Miracles do happen,» Richard giggles. Having finished my fag a long time ago I am now cradling my mug of tea, needing to hide my nerves by having something to fiddle with. «So, what is the most interesting car you've ever driven?» He asks suddenly, displaying his knack for random and unexpected question.  
«Oh god, no... Don't ask me that,» I give him a pleading look, shaking my head slightly.  
“Please?”  
“No.” I clam up, crossing my arms stubbornly. “I'm not telling you.”  
“Why noooooot?”  
“Because it's too embarrassing.”  
“Oh come on, imagine all the crap I've had to drive around in! Including a fair few things built by Jeremy! Come on, give it up!” He persists. I sigh and lean forward, hiding my face in my hands in shame.  
“A 1965 MGB..” I mumble into my own hands, then peek at him through a gap in my fingers. Richard screws up his face in disbelief, staring at me intently.  
“... Really?” He asks incredulously, gauging if I am truly serious.  
“Really,” I sigh, straightening up again. “Unless you count a Ford tractor from the 80s interesting. With a plough behind it, mind.”  
“See, that is interesting! I don't think I've ever heard about a girl who has done that!”  
“Well, I worked on a farm for a year and a half, that's the explanation for that.” Richard remains quiet as he takes the final puff of his cigarette and flicks it away across the tarmac, staring at me all the while.  
“Come on. I'm going to give you a ride,” he says firmly.  
“... Excuse me?” I raise my eyebrows at him, unable to hide a smirk. Richard smirks back, revealing that he is well aware of what his suggestion has insinuated.  
“Wipe off that naughty grin, miss, and come on,” he orders. Getting up from the chair he marches over to the barracks we all call the production office. Hesitating a little I trail after him across the tarmac. After a moment he reappears at the top of the stairs, jangling a pair of keys vigorously. Ascending the stairs he marches right past me and heads straight for the row of cars parked along the side of the studio hangar. The Aston I had previously been drooling over is there, parked between a Subaru and a blingy Range Rover sport. “In.” He points to the other side of the car. My heart shoots back up into my throat and my palms are definitely clammy as I open the door to an Aston Martin for the first time and sink into the passenger seat. Habitually, having done this a thousand times before, Richard shoves the key in the ignition and fires it up. A broad grin spreads across his face and he gives me a sleazy, squinty, seductive look, as if he is trying to impersonate Dirty Harry. “Oooh yeah.”  
“Jesus...” I breathe, unable to say much else.  
“I know...” Richard nods knowingly.  
“Go easy on me... It's my first time,” I squeak. The adrenaline in my body must be what makes me bold enough to carry on with these sleazy innuendos he started earlier. Richard guffaw loudly at this, and without further ado or warning he wrenches the car into reverse, backs out of the parking spot, throws it into gear and tears out onto the test track. Clinging onto the edges of the seat I squeal loudly with both fear and excitement. It feels like being in a jet fighter, the G-force when it accelerates presses me down in my seat and squeezes the air out of my lungs. Richard is relentless, he pounds down the straights and powerslides through every single corner, being a complete yobbo. He drives the Aston out to the end of the runway then decelerates to a complete halt. While revving the engine he stares at me with a manic gleam in his eyes, he looks quite mad. “Uh-oh,” I mutter, and in the next second the car launches off. Richard clamps his foot down, letting the rev counter hit red before changing gears. I feel like I have left my innards behind at the end of the runway.  
“Hundred and fifty miles an hour!” he shouts over the roar of the engine. The other end of the runway is approaching with blinding speed, but just as I am about to scream at him he hits the break and we decelerate. As the din of the engine quiets down I notice that I am breathing loudly and heavy, as if I am the one who has just gone hundred and fifty miles an hour. Some part of me keeps thinking that he is just like a pubescent boy, showing off, trying to be cool but really just acting like a tosspot. But another part of me is admitting to like it.  
“Bloody hell...” I squeak.  
“That's what they all say,” he says with an airy sniff as the car comes to a halt. The expression on Richards face is incredibly smug, and for a second I imagine him in a bed, his hair dishevelled, wearing the same expression because he has just given a woman a mind-blowing orgasm. I bite my lip to try and stop myself from blushing and giggling, but I fail. The mental image won't leave my mind. “Now. Your turn.” That quickly wipes the grin off my face.  
“What? No, no, I... Richard, wait,” I splutter, but Richard just leaves the car in neutral and climbs nonchalantly out of it, my protests obviously falling on deaf ears. Not interested in arguing with him through the front windscreen I get out of the car. Planting my hands in my sides I glare at him. “But.. What if I break it?”  
“We have mechanics, they'll fix it,” he shrugs carelessly.  
“But it might be a really fucking expensive thing!”  
“Blame it on me. It won't be the first time I've blown up a super-car on this track.”  
“And what if I crash it?”  
“It has air bags.”  
“What if I kill us both?”  
“Then we won't have much to worry about, will we!”  
“All right, fine!” I huff, having run out of arguments. Marching angrily over to the drivers' side I get in. Sitting down in the comfortable leather seat I run my hand over the steering wheel, trying to calm my trembling. “Wow, I don't even have to adjust the seat!” The words fall out of my mouth before I manage to stop myself. My next immediate instinct is to punch myself. Everyone in the entire world makes fun of Richard for his height, it is the last thing I want to do. I look over at him with an apologetic expression. “Sorry.” To my surprise he just laughs.  
“Now go on – drive the car,” he urges.  
“I can't,” I groan, terrified, feeling like I am behind the controls of a space shuttle.  
“Yes you can. Go on.”  
“I'll pee my pants,” I squeak.  
“Don't. You'll ruin the seat. A premium cow in Warwickshire died just so you could sit that comfortably,” he counters dryly. I look down to my left, incredibly relieved to find a gear knob.  
“Thank fuck, it has manual stick shift!” I exclaim. “I wouldn't even know what to do with flappy paddles.” My legs shake almost uncontrollably when I step on the clutch and put it into first. My memory of what happened after the car started moving will always be a little blurry. The adrenaline, the fear, the excitement of it makes everything turn into a haze. At first I drive slowly, terrified of doing any sort of harm to this beautiful machine. It really feels like driving space ship, it feels like nothing I have ever driven before, or would probably drive again. The tightness, the precision, the pure power. Richard quickly takes the role of the impatient agitator, goading me on to go faster. His constant poking at my driving make me eventually run out of patience and snap. “Fine, I'll drive like a complete berk!” I snarl, throw it down into third, accelerate and turn into the curve. The back-end kick out and I balance the throttle carefully, praying silently that I won't feed it too much power and spin out. I am almost bursting with pride when I manage to keep up the power-slide through the entire curve. I counter-steer, straightening the car up again and slow down. “See? I've had a car with rear-wheel-drive before.”  
“I can see that!” Richard squeak, looking at me with wide eyes.  
“Can you teach me how to do doughnuts now?” I ask eagerly, getting carried away.  
“That's the most beautiful question I've ever been asked!” He exclaims, then immediately launches into instructions for making successful doughnuts. After a few failed attempts I manage to keep the Aston in a continual spin, doing about 5 or 6 rounds before I slow down.  
“Oh.. kay... I think that’s enough for today. Before I blow out a tyre,” I decide, realising that I have gotten a bit too carried away. Slowly and in a civilised manner I drive the car off the test track and back into the parking lot. As I switch the engine off and take my hands off the wheel I see that they shake quite badly. Richard gets out of the car, walks around to the driver's side and open the door.  
“You okay?”  
“I think you'll have to scoop me out of this car seat with a shovel,” I mutter. Pulling myself together I undo the car belt and climb out of the car, using the door for support. Closing the door behind me I lean against the car, still not trusting my legs completely. Richard looks at me from under strands of stray, brown hair, excitement and pride on his face.  
“So you had fun?” He asks impatiently.  
“Oh god, of course! I'm sorry, I'm just a little... speechless. That was... amazing, I can't believe I just drove this car.”  
“And did some rather impressive doughnuts with it, I might add.”  
“Thank you so... so much, Richard,” I say sincerely, deciding it was time to be serious for a little. I have just fulfilled a life-long dream, and I am sincerely touched and grateful. “This really means a lot to me. Even though I know nothing about cars.”  
“You do know something about cars, you know enough to know that this is a very special car. And enough to appreciate being able to drive one.”  
“I will... never, ever forget this, I promise you. I'm not sure I'll ever get over it, either,” I admit, giving him a grateful smile. Suddenly I feel myself blushing again and I avert my eyes, looking at the tarmac beneath my feet. It is as if I just realise that I don't really know this man, but nevertheless he had taken part in a very exhilarating and somehow quite private experience, and while doing it I had shown him a lot more of myself than I would normally show... anyone. And I had even enjoyed having him there.  
“I'm glad you enjoyed it. I just thought you... really needed to upgrade your résumé a little, an MGB from the 60s can't be the most exciting thing on it.”  
“Again, thanks a lot. I hope I didn't ruin the car or anything.”  
“You didn't pee your pants, did you?”  
“No,” I chuckle.  
“Then its fine.”  
“Good. I better go, I have a few more things to do before I go home....” I mumble, not really knowing how to finish this conversation, and not really wanting to either.  
“Oh yeah, sure, of course. I better be getting home, too... See you tomorrow, then.”  
“Yeah, see you tomorrow...” I mumble quietly, taking my weight off the car and shuffling away from him. My heart is still beating wildly in my throat, my palms are still clammy, but I'm not quite sure why.


	2. The one with Sprocket

The following day there is a lot more hectic activity going on at the studio. The audience are usually let in by 2pm, and before that there is always a mad scramble to get everything ready, even though we try to prepare as best we can the day before. The stressful day has barely given me time to think about Richard, but whenever I see him around I do my best to keep a low profile, sometimes even avoid him. But when I am ordered over to change the batteries in the receiver for his microphone I can't avoid him any longer.  
“Hi. Richard? Um, the batteries in your mic receiver are flat, I need to swap them out,” I mumble, fidgeting with a fresh pair of batteries. The three presenters sit on the small, raised platform that serves as the stage in the middle of the studio, the table in front of them overflowing with manuscripts and cups of tea.   
“Ooh, Ronja! Hello!” he says loudly, immediately dropping his conversation with the other two. Digging the receiver out of his back pocket he hands it to me. I accept it and fiddle for a little as I try to open a lid to get to the batteries. “So, recovered from yesterday evening yet?” As he asks this I nearly drop the receiver, and when my eyes shoot up to him I am met with a mischievous grin. I frown, giving him an exasperated, almost angry look in return. He should know better than to drop innuendos like that with the other two close by. Still struggling with the plastic lid on the receiver I dig out a screwdriver from a pocket and force it open.  
“No... Driving an Aston Martin for the first time is something I will probably never recover from,” I say firmly, trying to make it as clear as possible what we are referring to.   
“What, you let her drive the Aston?” James raises an eyebrow, sounding genuinely curious.   
“Yeah, I bet he did,” Jeremy chuckles. “Then he probably gave her a real good ride in--” He continues. Hearing the snide tone in his voice I spin around to face Jeremy and point at him with my screwdriver, giving him my most threatening stare. That cuts his sentence short.  
“NO. Just. No.” I warn darkly, waving the screwdriver at him a little, and leave it at that. As tall, loud and fearless as Jeremy seem, he shrinks back at the sight of my look, and my weapon, and raises his hands to show his palms disarmingly. Slowly, reluctantly, I pocket the screwdriver, still glaring menacingly at Jeremy.   
“Hoooookay, he did not do anything to you whatsoever, inside an Aston Martin or outside of one, nor has he ever done so or, in fact, intended to do so,” Jeremy says firmly. The other two giggle at the sight of Jeremy cowering. Having replaced the batteries I hand the receiver back to Richard, who gives me an apologetic look as he accepts it. 'I walked right into that, I should've known better', the look said.  
“Now, if anybody gave anyone a good ride last night, it was me,” I smirk, flicking my hair then walking away from them. I have no idea where my brashness, nor my bravery has come from, I am always the one who comes up with comebacks like that three hours too late. All three men gape at me, eyes widening, then they immediately burst out laughing.

My dog has obediently been trailing after me all day, or at least stayed in the vicinity. He is an incredibly curious soul anyway, he absolutely has to know what I am up to, and now that he has come to work with me I am doing all sorts of things he has never seen me do before. He is also getting attention from everyone working around me, and to his great delight he is continually showered with attention, cuddles and scratches. For the last half hour he has been lying on the floor, staring at me while I coil up cables. Then, suddenly, on a whim or out of pure boredom, he gives a great bark and bounds away, disappearing around a corner and into the main studio. Swearing under my breath I tear after him, shouting loudly.   
“Sprocket! NO! Come here!” I bark, trying to sound stern even though I know it won't work, when he takes off like that nothing will stop him. Entering the studio I see Sprocket happily trotting towards the only place in the studio that obviously holds people, which is the raised stage. Richard, James, and Jeremy are rehearing their scripts again, and I am so angry at myself for letting my dog disturb them. “I'm really sorry, guys! Sprocket, come here!” I apologise, half-running after the dog across the studio floor.   
“No, no, it's okay, don't worry about it,” Richard calls across the studio, waving a hand. Sprocket, immediately recognising a friendly dog lover, runs straight over to where Richard sits and sniffs his hands and his trouser-legs happily, tail banging against the TV-screen. Richard greets him eagerly in return, scratching his neck and his back enthusiastically. Reaching the little, raised platform I sit down on the edge of it, huffing with exasperation, half out of breath from chasing after him. Having finished with Richard, Sprocket trots over to James, eagerly giving him the same round of sniffs.   
“Hello, mate...” James says in his ever-so calm manner, scratching him behind the ears. Sprocket give James' hand a quick lick of gratitude then rounds on the last man. Before Jeremy can stop him, Sprocket plants both feet in his lap and starts licking his face vigorously. Jeremy flails about with his long arms and legs for a moment before he manages to push the dog off his lap. We all burst out laughing.  
“He really likes you,” Richard giggles.  
“Maybe he sees you as a conspecific,” James observes.  
“A what?!” Jeremy barks, pretending to be annoyed but pets Sprocket all the same. James rolls his eyes at his co-worker's ignorance.  
“As someone of the same species,” he explains in a bored, flat voice, as if talking to a lowly peasant.  
“Maybe he wants to mate!” Richard suggests eagerly. Jeremy, unable to keep a straight face, chuckles and shakes his head. Considering himself done with the greeting round, Sprocket sits down next to me and licks my ear once in an attempt to make me forget that he had run off.  
“What's his name?” James asks, pointing at him.   
“Sprocket!” I announce, scratching him behind both ears.   
“Sprocket? Really? Now that is a brilliant name.”  
“I thought you'd like that. I was thinking that if I got another dog I might call him Gasket. But if I started down that road I'd end up with Spanner the Spaniel in the end,” I explain. At this James and the others chuckle. Suddenly I realise that they often refer to James as 'the spaniel', and immediately feel embarrassed about what I have said. “No offence,” I add, giving James an apologetic shrug.  
“None taken,” he smiles disarmingly.   
“I'm sorry for interrupting your rehearsal, guys, he just... got it in his head the take off. I normally wouldn't bring him to work, but a bloke was coming over to fix my bathroom today and I just didn't want him confined to the kitchen barking at the poor plumber all day.»   
«Like I said, don't worry about it,» Richard waves. «He just wanted to say hello, didn't he? Yes, it can't be that much fun tagging around with mum at work all day,» he croons to the dog, who immediately makes his way over to Richard and rests his head in his lap, letting Richard know he is ready for more cuddles.   
«All right, now I know the dog's name, but what's yours?» James prompts. Richard gives a little start as he realises that he should probably have been the one to introduce me.   
«Oh! Sorry, everyone, this is Ronja. Ronja, meet James...» I get up to shake James' hand. «...and thats Jeremy. Now, behave.» Jeremy towers over me as he gets out of his seat and his huge hand shakes mine politely.   
«Ronja? Like the 'robber's daughter?» he asks, his hand still holding mine. I gape at him, unable to answer or hide how baffled I am. «That swedish author, right, Astrid something...?» He continues.   
«Er... yes...?» I mumble, still dumbfounded.   
«Oh don't look so surprised. I have a million kids!» Jezza shouts theatrically. «They loved her books, especially my oldest, we read all of them! The Brothers Lionheart, Ronja, Karlsson-on-the-roof, Pippi Longstockings...» He rambles.   
«Pippi what?» Richard pipes up, looking equally confused and amused. Finally the gift of speech returns to me.   
«Yeah, I am named after her, actually. I'm sorry, I just didn't expect you to be familiar with Scandinavian children's books.»   
«Oh, I don't remember half of what I've read for the kids over the years, but those books I actually liked, I liked Ronja. She was independent and free.»  
«Yeah, she had balls,» I summarize. «Figuratively, I mean.»   
«Exactly,» Jeremy agrees.   
«And on that bombshell...» James mumbles, causing us all to chuckle.   
«Anyway, I should take my mongrel and get our of your way...» I begin.   
«Oh no, no, let him stay,» Richard waves. «We can't concentrate anyway.»  
«Okay... If you want him out of here, just find me, yeah?» They all nod and wave me away. Sprocket remains happily by Richard's feet, enjoying having his chin scratched. I get back to work, and neither hear nor see anything of my dog or the three men for a good long while. When I return to get him before the audience are let in, Sprocket has managed to sweet-talk his way into the sofa. He is now slumbering between James and Richard, his head resting in James' lap while both men are petting him absent-mindedly. 

That evening, after the studio shoot is over and the audience has gone home, I am getting ready to go home too. I open the back door to my Touran and open the cage for Sprocket to jump in. Just as I am about to close it I hear my name being called across the parking lot. Turning around I spot Richard heading towards me. Sprocket barks once, his tail banging against the cage, happy to see the kind man who is so loose-handed with his cuddles.   
“Richard! Hi. Um.. Listen, I'm really sorry that Sprocket barged in on your rehearsals today... I mean, I shouldn't have brought him to work, I just didn't have any alternative and...” Richard waves me down, shaking his head a little.   
“No, no, don't worry about it, seriously. We really didn't mind, all three of us likes dogs. So really, don't fret about it.” As he is talking he has resumed to pet Sprocket, almost as if he does it automatically whenever a dog is nearby.   
“Oh, okay.. Good,” I mumble, still fretting.   
“You should bring Sprocket up to my place some day?” He suggests. “I have four dogs at home, they'd have fun playing with each other.” Then he turns to speak to Sprocket, scratching his ears. “You can run around in the fields all day, chase rabbits and get mucky, wouldn't that be fun?” He croons.   
“Ssh, don't tell him things like that, he'll never stop nagging me to go now!” I hiss and Richard giggles. “But yeah, that sounds nice, maybe I'll do that.”  
“Don't say that, don't say maybe, that’s a thing people say and then it never happens,” Richard points out.   
“Okay, then. I will do that, I will bring Sprocket over,” I smile, charmed by his persistence.   
“Good. Speaking of dogs, I better get home to mine. Bye, Sprocket,” he says cheerfully and ruffles the dogs fur. “Bye, Ronja. Drive safe.”

Over the next six weeks the four last studio bits of the season are recorded. My two months worth of temping at the Top Gear studio is over, and I am sad that it is. The job has been a welcome and much needed break from working as a nurse, I have learned a lot and more importantly had lots of fun. But I have known all along that the contract only lasts this long, and I have never been promised more work. It was incredible that I even got the job in the first place, seeing as I have very little in the way of relevant education or experience. During these weeks I bump into Richard regularly, and we chat about everyday things whenever we do. He doesn't mention anything about me bringing Sprocket over to visit, and I am too shy to mention it. Having wrapped up the final studio shoot for the season I coil up cables for the last time, half expecting that it will be the last day I ever see Richard, and that he's forgotten all about his suggestion. Just as these rather depressing thoughts flit through my mind, Richard's voice bring me back to reality.   
“Ground control to Ronja!”   
“Hm? Oh, hi. Sorry, I zoned out,” I mumble, trying to hide a blush as I have just been thinking about him.   
“You have a tendency to do that, I've noticed,” he says with a little smile.  
“Mm, I know.”  
“Listen, I just wanted to ask if you're busy this weekend? If you're not, maybe you wanted to come up to my place, bring Sprocket on a play-date?” Richard suggests. I am so shocked by this sudden question that I answer before I even think.  
“Sure, that would be fun,” I blurt out, feeling the blush creep up my neck again. I answered way too quickly. “Well, I have a day shift on Friday... Would Saturday be all right?”  
“Yeah, of course. I'm home all weekend, for once. Its just been a bit hectic lately,” he shrugs, as if he is apologising for not having asked sooner.   
“Okay. Saturday, then,” I smile. What is going on? Was is happening? My mind races and I try not to read too much into this.  
“If you gave me your phone number I could just text you directions and... stuff,” he finishes with feeble bravado, fishing his phone out of his pocket. As I read my phone number aloud he taps it into his phone. “Great, got it. So.. See you Saturday, then?” He raises an eyebrow at me, his eyes glinting and he smiles. Does he look excited?  
“Yeah, sure, Saturday,” I stammer incoherently, still in a state of shock. “Hey... Where do you live, by the way?”  
“Cotswolds. Well, nearly. I used to live in Hereford, but I moved after the... divorce.” He makes a little pause before saying that last word, as if saying it aloud takes some effort. “It'll take you about.. an hour and a half from here. Well, two if you're Captain Slow. But then again, I've been on the test track with you and you're definitely not. Anyway, must dash,” he finishes, looking a little stressed as he checks his wrist watch. He gives a little wave of farewell before hurrying away. “Saturday!” he calls back over his shoulder.   
“Saturday!” I shout, unable to hold back a laugh.


	3. The one with the play-date

Pulling into a big, gravelled front yard I slow down, studying the big house which I fervently hope is the right one. I have followed Richard's directions as well as I could, but this is the countryside and all the roads look the same. As the door of the house opens and a pack of dogs bounds out I feel a little more certain that I have come to the right place. The dogs head straight for my car, and I barely have time to open the door before they bear down on me, greeting me eagerly like only dogs can. I squat down, letting myself be sniffed and nudged and licked in the face.   
«Hello there! You found it! Welcome!» Says an eager voice somewhere above me.   
«Hello!» I reply, giggling a little as I am nearly knocked to the ground by a characteristically hyperactive English setter.   
«Oi, Boot, careful!» Richard admonishes. «She's a guest, try to act civil?» He sighs to the pack in general.   
«Are you going to introduce us?» I ask, scratching a border collie behind the ear.   
«Of course! That's Crusoe,» Richard gestures to the dog I am petting. «The one that nearly ran you over was Boot. The jack russel is Captain, and then there's Teegee,» he finishes, pointing to the labradoodle I remember having seen on Top Gear.   
«Hello, everyone,» I croon, trying to pet all four dogs at once.   
«Now, can I let your Sprocket out before he dies of excitement?» Richard suggests, making me aware of the fervent wailing and whimpering coming from inside my own car. Sprocket has seen the pack of dogs from the confines of his crate and is going spare in his eagerness to greet them all.  
«Oh, of course, go on,» I say, straightening up when my legs threaten to give out.   
«Yes, yes, mate, hang in there, keep your fur on,» Richard says as he opens the back door of my car and fumbles with the latch on the crate, trying to get it open. His pack of dogs mill around behind him, having understood that they will get to meet whoever is making the racket. Sprocket yowls and shakes at this point, and the minute Richard takes a step back and opens the crate door he bounds out and lands in the pack.   
«Yeah, that's the way to introduce yourself, Sprocket. Classy as always,» I chuckle, rolling my eyes at the silly dog. I watch as the dogs greet each other, always a little nervous at how Sprocket will get along with other dogs. He is mostly used to spending time with just me, and don't get to socialise much with his own species. To my relief Sprocket behaves nicely and before long they are inviting him to play, bounding around the front yard.   
«So... Fancy just taking them for a walk right away?» Richard suggests.   
«Sure. Just let me change my shoes.»   
«Yeah, me too, be right back.” He disappears inside the house for a minute, and upon returning he points to the shoes I now have on. «Hiking boots! Thats the spirit!» He exclaims, gesturing to his own hiking boots. He has put on a light jacket and carries a bundle of dog leads in one hand. «Probably won't need these, but just in case,» he shrugs. The late September sky is an odd shade of grey, like it can't quite decide if it wants to rain or not. I grab my jacket and Sprocket's lead out of the car before locking it.   
«Right-o, ready,» I smile, stuffing the keys into a pocket. Richard leads the way across his front yard and onto a path along the edge of a field. He calls for his dogs, and when they realise we are going on a walk they bound happily after us.   
«You have a lovely place. Must be great to live out here with the dogs,» I remark, looking back at Richard's house and garden.  
«Thank you. Yeah, I like it here, and the dogs do as well. I've only been here for a month or so, I'm still getting settled in, as it were...” I keep quiet, sensing somehow that he might have more to say. «I bought this place when I realised... that I wasn't going to be able to save my marriage. This place is great though, its sort of.. between everything; London, Guildford, my old house. I could never live in a city, I'm a country bumpkin and always will be.»  
«That makes two of us, then,» I admit with a smile.  
«Didn't you use to live in London?»  
«Operative word being 'used to'. I loved living in London for a while, but as time went it just got more and more.. claustrophobic. There's people bloody everywhere in there, you know! Moving to Guildford was very... liberating. Probably even more so for Sprocket, he much prefers grass and dirt to tarmac and concrete. Before moving to England, I grew up in the country.»  
«Can I ask where you grew up?» Richard seems a little hesitant to ask.  
«Oh!» I realise I have never told him. «Norway, actually. But I moved here when I was 18, so I've been here for.. wow, nearly 12 years now.»   
«Practically a local, then! You know, James' girlfriend is from Norway. And she's a nurse, too.»   
«She is? Huh, small world.» In the silence that follow we both watch the dogs who chase each other around the field, intoxicated by their freedom and all the space they have to roam around on.We both giggle as they sometimes fall over or crash into each other.  
«Listen, I hope you didn't feel like I badgered you into coming here,» Richard breaks the silence, speaking quietly and sounding a little awkward. «I realise I might've come on a a bit strong and didn't leave you much choice.»   
«What? No, no, of course you didn't!» I reassure him. Looking at Richard I cansee a great deal of insecurity in him, and even a little loneliness, which is a strange thing to see in a man who is normally so bubbly and cocky. «I didn't have any plans this weekend, if I wasn't here I'd just be sitting at home being bored, being here is much better than that! And Sprocket really needs some playmates, he needs to spend time with other dogs. He's having the time of his life right now!»  
«Good.» Richard seems a little relieved. «I just... I'm not quite used to this yet. Spending time on my own, having no plans on weekends... I get restless if I sit still for too long, I just... needed some company,» he finishes in an embarrassed mumble, fidgeting a little with his own hands.  
«Well, I'll take it as a compliment that you wanted my company.” I give him a mild smile which Richard returns. «I can understand how you feel though, used to always having someone around?»  
«Yes, exactly.”  
«That must be hard, all big changes like that are... It takes a while to get used to it, I guess,» I muse, trying to imagine what it is like to have been married, always having someone around and suddenly, they're not there any more.   
«Yeah,» Richard sighs, sounding like he isn't sure he ever will get used to it. «And it's strange, it feel like... I got custody of the dogs, while Mindy got custody of most of our friends.»  
«Well... You probably got the better deal, to be honest. I generally like dogs a lot more than I like most people.» At this Richard pauses for a moment before he lets out a surprised laughter.  
«You might have a point, actually!»   
«I mean, they're easier to relate to, they're open and honest, you always know where you stand with a dog.» Richard nods his agreement, then he shoots me a sideways glance.  
«Look, I didn't ask you out here to complain to you about my divorce and whine how miserable I am. I'm sorry... I must sound awfully bitter and pathetic.»  
«No, not pathetic. Just... sad,» I reply with a voice full of empathy.  
«I don't want to be sad, this is a depressing topic. And I barely know you, I shouldn't be laying all this on you. Lets talk about something else,» he waves. While he has talked I have kept half an eye on the dogs  
«Sprocket NO!» I shout, watching in horror at Sprocket who is bounding wildly around until he lands in a huge puddle of mud.  
«Oh relax, they're all going to look like that in a minute,» Richard shrugs carelessly. The splash caused by Sprocket draws the other's attention, and they are soon investigating the same patch of mud, mostly by wading through it. Richard watches as his dogs gets muddier and muddier with a carefree smile on his face. «We'll hose them when we get back. It hasn't been a proper walk unless they get really mucky.» We keep walking over fields and along dirt roads, through patches of forests and along small streams, managing to talk about more light-hearted subjects. Eventually we sit down on an old stone fence, having a breather while the dogs explore the trees in the area. Closing my eyes I heave a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air.  
«God, I'm glad I moved out of London,» I mumbled, eyes still shut.  
«Was there another reason that you did? Besides wanting to get out of the city, I mean. » Richard's question is timid, as if he knows he might be crossing some sort of privacy boundary by asking more about my personal life.   
«I needed a change of scenery. I'd been in London for nearly 11 years and realised I had gotten a little stuck, I had never intended to stay in one place for so long, so I wanted to just... do something else. Most of all I needed to get away from the hospital ward I was working on, it was just getting too... hard.»  
«Why?»  
«... That is another... very depressing topic, Richard.” Despite this warning he just looks at me with an expression of honest interest. «All right, but it's a tragic story.» I sigh, squaring my shoulders a little. «I used to work in an oncology ward.»   
«Oncol-- that's like.. cancer, right?»   
«Yes, cancer patients. And I had this patient, a little 8 year old girl... She had a particularly agressive type of leukemia. It was just her and her mum in the world, her dad had died in an accident when she was a toddler. This girl spent.. weeks and weeks in my ward, and we developed this sort of... bond, I guess. She trusted me, and her mum did too, I could make her laugh and forget that she was sick for a while. We read books, and I read her the book about Ronja the Robber's daughter, the one Jezza talked about?» He nods, signalling that he remembers. «And I also read her this other book by the same author called 'The Brother's Lionheart'. It was about this pair of brothers, Carl and Jonathan. They lived in a tiny apartment in the city, they were poor and fatherless, their mum working all the time to try and make the ends meet. The youngest of the two, Carl, contracted tuberculosis, and Jonathan one used to tell his baby brother stories about a wonderful place called Nangijala, a place where people went after they died, a place of sagas and camp-fires. The apartment building they lived in caught fire, and in an effort to save his baby brother Jonathan takes him on his back and jumps out of the window. Jonathan dies in the fall. Not long after, the younger brother dies and the rest of the books is about how they meet again in Nangijala and their life there. Anyway...» I pause, reliving the memory which I am about to share. «This one nightshift I went in to check on the girl, and her mother was fast asleep in the other bed but the girl was wide awake. She looked so.. troubled, and I asked her what was the matter. 'I'm sad' she answered, and I asked her why. 'Because I'm very sick, so sick that I am going to die, and that'll make my mum very sad. My mum won't tell me that I'm dying, but I know I am anyway.' I was so shocked, she said it so.. plainly, it wasn’t even a question, she knew she was dying. At that point I realised I couldn't lie to her any more. I had promised her mum never to tell her, her mum wanted to protect her so badly, and even though I didn't agree with the decision to keep the truth from her daughter, I had to comply. Then this little girl looked up at me and asked me if Nangijala was real. I couldn't lie to her, she had been lied to enough, so I told her that honestly I didn't know, but that I sincerely hoped that a place like that existed. Then she asked me if I could keep it a secret, if I could not tell her mum that she knew she was dying. She wanted to protect her mum just like she had protected her. She died three weeks later, having pretended all the while that she had never realised the truth. One of the last things she said to me... I'll never forget this, I was sitting by her bed and I couldn't stop myself from crying, I thought she was asleep. And she opened her eyes and looked at me with all the wisdom of an 80 year old, and she gave me this sad, old smile. 'Don't cry, Ronja. I'm going to Nangijala. I'll meet you there.' After she died I was just... done with cancer patients for a while.» A long, thoughtful silence follows my story. I keep my mouth shut, letting Richard digest the story that has taken me months to process, something I am still working on.   
«Wow... That makes my plucky divorce sound not so bad at all,» he admits with a flinch. «Talk about putting things into perspective.» Even though he's making a joke of it, I can see the vulnerability lying underneath it.  
«Losing someone you care deeply about is always hard, Richard, no matter how you lose them. And a divorce is still a major loss.» At this Richard just stare back at me, apparently lost for words. I realise I might have stomped onto very personal ground. «Listen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get so... personal, you said earlier you didn't want to talk about it, so--»  
«No, no, don't worry about it,» Richard wave me down. «I really don't mind, I mean... I started digging around in your personal life, and you just told me a very personal story. That must've been an awful thing to go through. I like the thought of Nangijala though. Is it weird that I want to read that book about the Brother's Lionheart now?» He asks, frowning a little at himself. I can't help but chuckle quietly.  
«Not at all! It's a good book. I still have the one I read for her, you can borrow it.»  
«I probably shouldn't, I'll just cry a lot..» He mutters. «You're still working as a nurse, though? In Guildford?»  
«Yeah, I am, but I'm working at the A&E now.»  
«That still sounds like a pretty tough job? I can imagine you get all sorts of things coming in...»  
«Believe me, you can't imagine half the things we have coming in,» I snort. «I mean.. yes, its' still an intense job, but in a different way than working in oncology was. This is more action-filled, you have to think fast. But I like it, I rarely have to see a patient for more than half a day, so... there’s a lot less emotions involved, you don't get to know your patients the same way. On the other hand we rarely get the patients after they get sent on to various wards, so I often wonder what happened with to them.»  
«I don't know how you do it. I mean, with the blood and the screaming and the.. bodily fluids...» Richard makes a face of disgust as he tries to imagine the horrors I have to deal with.   
«Actually, the blood and gore doesn't bother me much. What really gets to me are dislocated bits. You know, when someone comes in with their arm or their finger or their foot pointing in completely the wrong direction.»  
«Okay, all right, enough of that, I get the picture!» Richard says loudly to make me stop describing it any greater detail.  
«But I really liked working in the studio, even if it was just for a short while. It was very nice being able to do something completely different.»  
«You must be mad, if you like working with us.»   
«You say that like it's a bad thing?» 

We stay out with the dogs for over three hours before we finally make it back to the house. Surrounded by five dogs covered head to tail in mud, I give Richard a sceptical look.   
«So, how are we going to clean these guys without ruining your entire house?» I challenge.   
«Aah!» He says, raising a finger. «See, when I bought this house it had this huge laundry-room behind the kitchen. I had heated, tiled flooring put in and its now the dogs' room.» While talking he rounds the corner of the house, me and the dogs trailing after him. «I also had a door put in, that way I can just hose the dogs off out here and shove them in there to dry off!» He finishes his explanation with a wide grin and a flourish towards the door.   
«Your dogs have their own room?» I ask incredulously, raising an eyebrow at him.   
«Well, I have four!» He retorts. Next to a door there is a garden hose mounted on the wall, and taking it down he begins rinsing the dogs off. Sprocket veers backwards, not used to this kind of treatment. «You might stand back, this tends to be a wet mess.» And on cue Crusoe shakes himself vigorously, scattering mud and water everywhere. I hastily take a few steps back and watch as the dogs let themselves be washed. Sprocket, upon seeing that all the other dogs accept it, reluctantly lets himself be rinsed off as well. When all five are relatively clean and has shaken the worst of the water off, Richard opens the door and ushers them inside. «Now. Cuppa?» he offers.  
«Sound great.» I trail after him to the front of the house again, and we discard our mucky hiking boots on the front step before entering the house. «I'm soaked, I need to change. Just... go sit down, kitchen is right through there,» he waves vaguely in the direction of a doorway, then disappears up the stairs. I enter the kitchen but don't have the audacity to just plonk myself down, so I end up hovering by a kitchen counter, having a look around. The kitchen seems to have been done up lately, as did what little else I had seen of the house. Everything was kept in a rustic, rural style, but still looked modern. It bore evidence of not having been properly lived in yet, it was still too clean and felt a bit empty. While standing there I can hear the dogs scrabbling on the other side of the door at the far end of the kitchen. Richard reappear a few minutes later, having changed his jeans and thrown on a long sleeve sweater.   
«Right. Lets feed the mutts, then have a cuppa, yeah?» He flicks on the kettle, then heads for the door where I have heard the dogs. Opening it reveals that it is actually two halves of a door, and Richard closes the lower half after he enters, the half-door now acting like a gate to keep the dogs from accessing the rest of the house.   
«Hey, that's pretty nifty!» I observe, leaning against the door-frame and looking into the room over the door. There are four crates with open doors, all filled with soft dog-beds and various comforters and stuffed animals. Dog toys are scattered a bit here and there, and an entire plastic crate in a corner is filled with what looks like more chewtoys. On the wall is a coathanger with a mess of different leads, harnesses and a few canine raincoats. Along one short wall there is the food station, four sets of dogbowls lined up next to each other, all bearing the name of the dog it belongs to. Richard has utilised what I guessed was the old kitchen furnishing in this house, and set up a few cupboards and a kitchen counter along one wall. Habitually he picks up the dogbowls, set them on the counter and out of the dog's reach, then fills them with various types of dog food.   
«Your dogs really do have a room of their own,» I say with amazement.   
«Yeah, it's just.. easier this way, they have a place to eat, a place to sleep, this is just.. their place, they feel safe here and I don't have to share my bed with four shedding, flatulent, slobbering dogs with bad breath.» Richard pulls one of his characteristic faces and I can't help but laugh at him. I had seen that face so many times on the telly, but it feels very different when he aims it at me.   
«I know what you mean, I share a bed with one shedding, flatulent dog and thats more than enough! This is great though. If I had a bigger place, and more dogs, I probably would've done something similar,» I agree. Taking two bowls off the counter Richard holds them high in the air while the dogs jump and nudge him, evidently hungry after their long walk.   
«Oi, behave. Sit!» He barks, but absolutely nothing happens so he gives up and nudge his way through the crowd of canines. I half expect them all to throw themselves at the first dogbowl that is set down, but to my amazement they don't. «Crusoe, here,» he says mildly, setting down the first bowl. «Captain, here you are. And don't try snatch anything from Crusoe, I know you like them better but they make you sick!» He admonishes as he makes his way across the floor to pick up the two last bowls, which he sets down for Boot and Teegee. «There's a strict order to that, or it would just be.. mayhem,» he explains. Sprocket stands on the middle of the floor, watching as the other four gobble up their food. He then looks from me to Richard with a forlorn, sad expression, like we have both betrayed him. «Aaaw, mate, I haven't forgotten you!» Richard hastens over to the counter and fills a spare bowl, then offer it to Sprocket along with a scratch behind the ear. Sprocket give him a grateful look before taking a nose-dive into the bowl. «Now go on, sit down,» Richard insists as he re-enters the kitchen, closing the half-door behind himself. The kettle was long ready and he quickly and efficiently makes two cups of tea.  
«You've gone awfully quiet?» He prompts as he sits down opposite me by his huge, wooden kitchen table, plonking a cup in front of me.  
«I'm sorry, I'm just... tired, I think. I haven't had this much fresh air in 12 years!» I defend myself with a laugh. «I love that feeling though, that feeling you get when you've been outdoors for hours, and you come in again all chilly and rosy-cheeked, and you sit down with a warm drink and you get this fuzzy, warm feeling... I'm sorry, I'm talking bollocks,» I said with a blush, lifting the cup from the table to hide behind it.   
«No, you're not. I completely understand what you mean,» he reassures me. «That's why I live in the country! Now, the dogs are fed, how about we get fed too? I probably have some stuff lying around we could make dinner out of. And if you don't trust my cooking we could always order in.” His teasing smile re-emerges.  
«No, no, I trust you,» I nod, returning the smile.  
«.... wow,» he mutters, shocked at having my trust. I help out making dinner, and before long we sit down with our plates of pasta with chicken and garlic bread. «Want a glass of wine?»   
«Um... No thanks, I have to drive later, remember?» I decline politely.   
«Oh yeah, right, fair point,» he nods as he sits down. «Next time you come over, you're welcome to stay over if you want. You know, it is a bit of a drive to make twice in a day, and I have spare rooms,» he says casually.   
«Next time?» I raise an eyebrow at him, and he looks up from his food with an insecure, awkward expression.   
«I meant... If... there is... a next time,» he jabbers, back-paddling frantically.  
«I'm joking, relax!» I chuckle. Realising he'd been had, he smiles embarrassedly, closing his eyes for a moment before rallying.   
«Because, if you don't come back, you won't get to come with me riding ATVs.” He points at me with a fork.  
«You have ATVs?» I ask excitedly, and he just nods sagely, mouth full of food. «I've always wanted to try driving those. But I never have. Which would mean you'd have to teach me,» I warn.   
«Oh, sure, I don't mind doing that.»  
«They operate just like a motorbike, yeah?» Again, Richard just nods, busy chewing his food. «Are they manual or semi-automatic?»  
«Manual.”   
«Okay. I'll come ride ATVs with you, but only if you promise not to laugh at me the hundreds of times I'm going to stall the thing,» I demand.  
«You'll stall it two or three times max, then you'll have gotten the hang of it» he says with a careless wave.   
«You have too much faith in me.”  
“Ditto – you let me cook you food.” We eat in silence for a while until my phone rudely interrupts the peace. From the ringtone I know it is from the hospital, and I excuse myself, get up and answer.  
«And suddenly I have an early shift tomorrow,» I sigh as I hang up.   
«At the hospital?» Richard turns in his chair to look up at me.   
«Yeah. Bit of an emergency, they were very short on staff. And my contract is just on an on-call basis so at the moment I have to take every shift I can get. Guess I'll have to just finish dinner and start on the way home,» I apologise, returning to my seat.  
«No, no, that's okay, people have to work,» he says, smiling mildly. Having finished dinner I offer to help clean up, but Richard protests, insisting that he will take care of it.   
«Aaaw, Richard... Have a look at this,» I coo when I look into the dogs' room from over the closed half-door. All of them are asleep in their crates, curled up into little balls. Sprocket has miraculously managed to charm his way into Teegee's crate, and they are now sleeping soundly, cuddled up together as closely as they could get.  
«Aaaaw,» Richard echoes, surveying the tranquil scene. «I think there's definitely something going on there,» he adds conspiratorially, gesturing to Teegee's crate.   
«Looks like it,» I chuckle. «Aw, I hate to wake him up now.»   
«Yeah, that is actually really mean, you know! Waking up him, tearing him out of his girlfriend's bed, stuffing him into a cage in a freezing car, taking him home only so he can sleep next to you, garlic breath.” Richard pulls a face of disgust. I narrow my eyes, trying to come up with a snappy retort, but I have always been awful at that sort of thing.   
«I'll.... I'll call you when I've managed to come up with a stinging response!» I grumble, poking his chest with a pointy finger, and he laughs loudly. Feeling guilty I gently prod Sprocket awake. He clambers stiffly out of the crate, gives Teegee's nose a sniff and a boop, then looks at me with eyes brimming with sadness.   
«Come on. You'll see her again, I promise,» I comfort, scratching him.  
«Look at him! You have to come back here now, just look at the poor blokes face! He's heartbroken!» Richard points out dramatically.  
«You're really not helping here, mate,» I sigh as I clip Sprocket's lead on. Defeated, Sprocket slouches after me through the kitchen and out onto the doorstep where my mucky wellies are standing. I shove my feet into them, throw on my jacket then look up at Richard. “Thank you for inviting me,” I begin with a smile. “I've had a fun day, I didn't realise I missed spending time outdoors so much.”  
“Thank you for coming,” Richard replies a little shyly, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring at his feet. “I hope I haven't moped and whined too much at you.”  
“No, no, of course you haven't,” I assure him, and I mean it. I can tell that Richard is going through a tough time. It seems like he wants to get through it on his own, keep it to himself, but it is as if he is beginning to realise that he can't always do that, he is just too vulnerable and upset for that. And coming to that realisation, that he might need someone to talk to and get some support from, is hard enough for him. Squaring my shoulders I decide to be honest with him. “You're going through something awful, I know that, and its only natural that you have the need to talk about it. I don't mind, Richard. Really. I get it. You and I haven't been friends for that long, and not to sound like a counsellor but if you feel like you can talk to me, then I'm more than happy to listen.” I give him an assuring smile.   
“I... thanks, I appreciate that,” he says, looking shyly into my eyes for a second before looking away.   
“All right, I best be going.” Fishing my car keys out of my jacket pocket I press the button for the central locks. “Thanks for dinner, too, by the way.” Richard calls Sprocket to him and gets down on one knee, scratching the dog vigorously.  
“I'll see you soon, mate. I'll keep your girlfriend safe,” he giggles, then gets up again.   
“See you soon, yeah?” I ask, walking backwards towards my car. Leaning against the door-frame he nods and smiles.   
“Sure.” He stands there on his doorstep, watching until both Sprocket and I are buckled in.


	4. The one with the ex wife

Only a few days pass before I find myself entering Richard's driveway again. Sprocket begins howling with excitement as soon as he sees the house, obviously remembering that this is where his girlfriend lives. Our plan is to take the dogs out for a walk, then spend the rest of the day riding ATVs before ordering some take out. I have even agreed to stay over, just because I don't fancy making the drive twice in a day, and I don't have work either. Trips like that soon become a normal thing in my life as I start spending more and more time with Richard. Sprocket loves being with his packs of dogs and his girlfriend, and I enjoy spending time with Richard. Being with him is always a carefree existence filled to the brim with much fun and laughter. He is like suddenly having a new favourite playmate that you want to be with all the time, because otherwise you're just bored. This is a strange and unusual thought for me, I have always been perfectly happy in my own company and can spend days without seeing no one but Sprocket. But suddenly I can't, nothing is interesting and I'm just restless. Richard teaches me to drive ATVs, or he takes me for a bike ride, or teaches me how to change the airfilter and oil on my car out in his shed, because I want to learn how to do it and I don't mind getting my hands dirty. We take the dogs out for long walks, and a few times we take Sprocket and Crusoe out to the training grounds belonging to a local agility club, we've been allowed to borrow it and have some fun training with the dogs. He rarely mentions his divorce or how he feels about it any more, it is as if he has decided that he isn't going to talk about it, maybe in fear of being too depressing and whiny around me. Or maybe he just ignores it, tries to forget that it has happened, that it is happening. And I don't want to poke my nose too much into it, when we spend time together the tone is always very light-hearted and I get the distinct sense that Richard wants to keep it that way. 

One morning I wake up in Richard's spare room by a gentle knock on the door.   
«Ron?» The door gently opens and Richard timidly peers in to check that I'm decent.   
«Mm?»   
«I'm just popping out for a minute, we're out of milk and I thought I'd get the papers. Want anything?»  
«Curly wurlies,» I croak.   
«You've just woken up and your first thought is curly wurlies?»   
«Don't judge me.»   
«All right, fine. Curly wurlies it is,» he says with a little chuckle. «Be back in a bit. The dogs have been out already this morning.» The door shuts. Now that I am awake I realise I might as well get up, I'm awake and its later than I thought it was. Heaving myself out of bed I pull on my flannel pyjama bottoms and shove my feet into a pair of fluffy slippers; this has become the standard mode of dressing in this house, especially in the mornings, Richard and I are all about being comfy and we rarely give a damn about how we look around each other. I shuffle into the bathroom, yawning widely, trying to wake myself up. While in the bathroom I contemplate starting on breakfast, but realise that without milk there is no point anyway until Richard comes back. Reaching that conclusion I shuffle out into the living room and curl up in a big, squishy high-backed armchair and turn on the telly. The dogs, not confined to their own room, all come up to me in turn and greet me good morning before going back to various sleeping spots on the floor or on top of each other. Much earlier than I had expected I hear a car approach, and the front door opening. Footsteps enter the house, and I hear them enter the kitchen. Getting out of my chair I head for the kitchen as well.   
«Jesus, Richard, did you take the Porsche and floor it all the way? You better not have forgotten my curly wurl--» I jabber, but stop abruptly when I enter the kitchen and discover not Richard, but a woman standing there. She's short, but slender, with slightly bushy blonde hair, clad in a trench coat and a pair of high-heeled, sexy boots. I immediately recognise her as Richard's ex wife, and freeze in my tracks. We stare at each other, she is just as shocked as I am at the sight of another woman in this particular kitchen. Rallying a little she eyes me up and down, from my bushy bed-head via my crumpled pyjama to my furry-slippered feet, taking her time in studying this dishevelled creature standing before her. Condescension, dislike and disbelief are fighting for dominance in her face. «Sorry, I thought it was Richard...» I mumble feebly, though not really having anything to apologise for. Somehow, mentioning his name suddenly feels like the last thing I should have done.  
«Aha,» she answers simply, her tone flat and cold. She looks like she is trying her best to restrain herself from bursting out with all the things she wants to say, all the questions she has.   
«I'm not sleeping with him.» The words are out of my mouth before I can even censor the thought in my own head. I screw up my eyes, fighting the urge to smack myself very hard in the face.   
«A-ha...» she repeats, her voice now filled with disbelief.  
«I'll go away now.» I gesture wildly towards the kitchen doorway, turn on my heels and practically run out of the room. I head straight for the relative safety of 'my' guest bedroom, and close the door behind me. Sitting down on the bed I wrap the duvet around myself and sit absolutely still, listening intently for any angry, high-heeled footsteps that might decide to follow me. I am thankful that I hear none. After a long silence I hear another car approaching, followed by the car door and then the front door slamming. At first I can't hear their conversation at all, but eventually their voices rise and become angry. I catch little phrases like 'no right' and 'common courtesy' from Richard, and retorts like 'on the rebound' and 'that was fast' from her. Eventually it sounds like he tells her to just leave. I hear the front door again, then a car speeding away. Absolute silence descends on the house. When Richard opens the door to the guest room a few minutes later he finds me sitting on the bed, the duvet wrapped over my head and shoulders as a protective cape.   
«You can come out now,» he says with a humourless, sad smile. I just shake my head slowly then look up at him with a horrified stare, traumatized by the experience. Richard laughs once through his nose, then sits down on the edge of the bed.   
«Did she say something? Was she mean to you?» He asks, the genuine concern in his voice is touching.  
“No, no, she didn't say anything, actually... It was more what I said to her, really.”  
“...Which iiiis?” Richard prompts gently when I don't continue.   
“I was just so.. shocked that she was there, and she kept staring at me in this awful way and I said... I...”  
“You said..?”  
“I said... 'I'm not sleeping with him.'” Richard stares at me unblinkingly for a minute, then he screws up his eyes and gives himself completely over to a fit of laughter. I chuckle half-heartedly with him, seeing the hilarity of the situation but still feeling to embarrassed to laugh properly at it. «That is the single most awkward moment in my life,” I mumble. Eventually Richard's laughing fit subsides, and he pats my knee consolingly.  
“It doesn't matter, she would've thought that we were sleeping together no matter what you had said or done,” he says, still chuckling a little.   
“Is she cross with you?” I ask, daring to come out of my duvet shield, at least a little.   
“Not as cross as I am with her,” he says, his smile quickly sliding off his face. “I don't like her just showing up here without warning and barging in like that. And not because I have anything to hide, like the fact that you are here, I don't need to hide that. But I still don't think she has a right to just waltz in here.”   
“Yeah, I must admit I found that a little... strange. I mean, if you had lived here together before I could've understood it, because then this would've been her house too once, but...”  
“No, she never lived here. But she thinks the fact that we were married once gives her the right to just march in here whenever she feels like it,” he grumbles.   
“Why does she, though? I mean, what does she want?” I ask, then quickly change my mind. “I'm sorry, that is none of my business.”  
“No no, its okay,” he waves, then sighs heavily. “Honestly I think she came for sex.” The frank answer takes me by surprise, and not really knowing how to respond to that I go with trying to make a joke out of it.   
“Oh god, I'm so sorry, I totally cock-blocked you!” At this Richard chuckles again before turning serious.  
“It's probably a good thing that you did, to be honest. If you hadn't been here I probably would have slept with her. It's... happened before. We were married for a long time, and sometimes when she gets lonely or misses me she's turns up here dressed like that and... It's so easy to fall back into that, we're so familiar with each other, and it feels great then and there but then it just makes everything a million times worse after.” His openness and honesty take me a little by surprise. We have barely spoken about his divorce at all, and now all of these things come pouring out of him.   
“Yeah, I can see how it would be easy to fall for the temptation, but it must make you feel like shite afterwards.”   
“Pretty much,” he agrees, nodding sadly. “But sometimes I think with the wrong head first, like all men... Anyway, I'm glad she didn't say anything to you. She can be a little mean-spirited when she wants to,” he says, apologising for her.   
“I was worried she was going to punch me in the face there for a second, that’s why I ran in here to hide. I mean, I'm not even shagging you and still your ex scares the living daylights out of me.” Richard chuckles again.   
“I told her not to come over unannounced any more, and I think that upset her just as much as the fact that you were here. She hates that, she hates being told that she can't do something.”  
“It might not be just that... Being in a relationship, you always have access to the other person, to some extent you even feel some sort of ownership of the other, and you depend on each other. And by telling her she can't just pop over whenever she fancies it you're closing the door on her, denying her access. You're not hers any more, you're becoming independent again, and even though you've been separated for a good while, maybe she thought she'd still have some sort of... control over you. I don't know, Richard, I don't know her at all, I'm just making uneducated guesses here.”   
“But you might be right,” he nods. “That just shows how different we are, though. I would never presume that I could just barge into her house these days, even if I did actually live in that house once. So I'm having a hard time understanding why she thinks she can barge into mine.”  
“Maybe you have more respect for her than she has for you,” I say without even thinking.”I'm sorry, I don't mean to talk badly about her, as I said, I don't even know her.”  
“It's all right. I'm just.. sorry you had to go through that,” he says, squaring his shoulders and changing his tone of voice, obviously closing the subject. “Ready to come out of there and have some breakfast? I'm starving!” I nod at Richard, unwrapping the duvet from around my body.   
“I can make eggy bread?” I offer, getting up from the bed. “As an apology for being a complete twat to your ex wife?”   
“Eggy bread sounds grand. But not because you need to apologise for anything, because you don't,” he says firmly. I trail after him into the kitchen and we start on breakfast. Sitting down by the kitchen table a little later I rifle through the papers Richard have bought.   
“Really? The Daily Mirror?!” I say, holding up the paper in an accusatory fashion.   
“I'm not reading it for the great journalism!” He pipes up. “Sometimes I just have to... keep up with what those bloody tabloids are writing. Its calmed down a lot, but when the news of my divorce got out they wrote so much crap, wild claims about why we were splitting up. Of course it would've been best not to read it, but part of me just had to know what sort of rumours they were spreading about me. And Mindy.”   
“I guess you would have to. But couldn't you have someone else sift through this shite for you? Like an agent or something?” I throw down the paper in mock disgust.   
“I do, actually. But sometimes I just have to have a look for myself,” he admits, mouth half-full of toast.   
“That is rather self-destructive behaviour, Hamster,” I warn, pointing at him with a knife. A little silence follows in which a realisation hits me. “You know, this sort of thing is exactly what the tabloids would love to write about,” I say as I gesture to the air between us.   
“What do you mean?”  
“Just imagine what the tabloids would make out of the fact that you're spending so much time with a young woman and her dog. And that she's even staying over! Can you imagine all the sordid speculations they would come up with? 'The Hamster is happy again' or something cheesy and awful like that.” Richard laughs loudly, then nods in agreement.   
“You're absolutely right, they would write that without hesitating.” He pauses for a moment. “What if they do write that some day?”  
“Yeah, what if they d?” I shrug carelessly, looking at him over my cup of tea. Richard keeps looking at me, his expression a little worried. “Relax, Richard. I know what this is,” I say pointedly, putting the cup down and once again gesturing to the space between us. “I know what sort of relationship we have, that we're friends and nothing more. And I honestly don't care what other people might think. And if they believe what the Daily Mirror writes they're bloody idiots anyway.”  
“I just... want you to be prepared that they might write something involving you some day. I wish that wasn't the case, that I could protect you from that, but... They're vicious, and I'm a recently divorced telly presenter... By spending time with me you risk ending up in the tabloids, and I understand if you don't want that.” He appears to shrink in his chair as he talks, he seems concerned and sad, as if he thinks that I am going to stop spending time with him.   
“Oh shut up,” I say, but not unkindly. “I don't need to be protected. I'm perfectly aware of the risk, and I don't really consider it a risk anyway. I'm not going to stop spending time with my mate just because I'm a girl and he happens to be a recently divorced man, and a bit famous, and someone the papers might possibly hypothetically write about. Honestly, if the reason I end up in a tabloid newspaper is because I am rumoured to allegedly be dating Richard Hammond... That is far from the worst thing that could happen. I can think of a hundred millions rumours that are a lot more horrible than that!” While I talk Richards worried expression slowly turn into a smile, and now he laughs.   
“All right, I see your point. Thanks, though,” he adds, looking almost shy but grateful.


	5. The one with the job offer

My phone rings, and looking at the screen all it says is “caller ID hidden”. As a general rule I rarely pick up if its a number I do not recognise, and never if its a hidden ID. But for some reason, on this day, I pick up.   
“Hello?”  
“Hello. Am I speaking to Ronja?” Says a voice on the other end, one I don't recognise.   
“Er, yes... Who is this?” I frown to myself, wondering who on earth it can be.  
“I'm calling from the BBC, this is Andy Wilman,” the voice replies. His voice reminds me vaguely of someone, but I can't quite get a grasp on who it is.   
“Um... Oh, hello,” I answer evasively, not wanting to admit that I have no idea who I am talking to, apart from it being someone from the BBC. Naturally he sees right through me, but replies in a wonderfully diplomatic way that saves me from any awkwardness.   
“As you probably know I'm the producer on Top Gear, and I am contacting you because I wanted to see if you might be interested in a job offer.”  
“... What? Really?” Is all I manage to say when I finally regain the use of my brain.   
“Yes, really. You were on the production crew in the studio when we filmed the most recent season, were you not?”   
“Yes, I did, I was a sort of... Assistant, of sorts...” I murmur, still feeling completely lost.   
“The crew spoke highly of you, they said that despite not having much experience you were a quick learned and eager. Plus they liked you, which frankly is the most important bit. Now, the reason I am calling is because I was also made aware of the fact that you normally work as a nurse? In an A&E?” This sharp turn in the conversation make my confusion complete.   
“Er.... Yes, yes I do, actually.”  
“I realise this call must seem very strange to you. Let me try to explain. These days we're doing preparations for filming a new special episode. You know the kind?”  
“The ones where they go to some very foreign country with three rubbish cars and have to drive very far?” I answer with a little smile.   
“Exactly. These specials have in all honesty become rather huge expeditions over the years; they require a massive amount of organising and planning. Everything about these shoots is always a little extreme; the locations, the climate, the cars... We try to be mindful of safety, but it's a big crew and we travel to some pretty remote and exotic places, sickness, small accidents and injuries seem to be more or less inevitable on things like these. During a meeting the other day we were talking about this, and we realised that it might be a good idea to bring along a health care professional. And then someone mentioned your name, that you were a nurse. We already know that you are a good help, and that as a nurse you have experience with emergency cases. So therefore I wanted to ask if you would possibly consider coming with us on this shoot?”  
“I... er... wow, I'm staggered,” I finally manage to stammer. “Are you sure you'd want me though, I mean... wouldn't for example an army medic or a doctor be better?”  
“I'm not so sure about that, to be honest” he counters. “First of all, I sincerely hope we'll never experience anything so severe we'd need an army medic. What we need is someone who can see to it that everyone takes their malaria pills every morning and uses their bug spray and mosquito nets. We need someone who can rinse and bandage up a gash, and who might know what to do in an emergency until we can get to a hospital. We need someone whose job it will be to carry around the remedies for pain relief, upset stomachs, dehydration, severe sunburns and whatever else these these lumbering idiots might suffer from. See what I mean?”   
“Yes, of course I do, and I would agree that having a person like that along would be very useful for you. But there must be other people out there who are far more qualified for this sort of thing than me?” I argue, still feeling under-qualified for the job I was being offered.   
“But the crew likes you, which is a very important quality for any person we decided to take with us, these trips can be rather intense. And the presenters like you, too. I think the fact that you are familiar with most of the crew and the presenters really are important, you know the people you have to deal with. We can't get anyone else in time, because we leave in little over a month. I know a nurse who has a diploma in tropical medicine, I can put you in contact with her so she can help you prepare if you want to,” Andy offers helpfully.   
“But.. why not ask her to come along?” At this question Andy gives a derisive snort.   
“Well.. because she is James' girlfriend, to tell you the truth. If she came along James would be too busy being overprotective of her to actually do his job. I also happen to know she has a new job she is very excited about so I think she's too busy.”   
“Oh...” I mumble, running out of arguments. Everything inside me is screaming that I should accept the job right away, but I can't quite get over the feeling of being under-qualified.   
“Are you considering it?” He asks impatiently.   
“Of course I am! I'd have to do a fair bit of research though, to be honest I don't know that much about travel medicine. Emergency medicine, yes, a little, at least on a nurse basis, but...” My mind is working furiously, trying to gauge if I am at all capable of this.   
“Well, like I said, Emily will help you with some of that,” Andy is quick to reassure me. “I've already spoken to her and she'll gather some information for you. Naturally we will provide you with funds to buy whatever supplies and medication we would need, and you will get paid for all the preparations you have to do before leaving as well as the trip itself. If you're accepting the job, you can come down to my office some day and we'll discuss the details. The BBC have already approved my suggestion of bringing you along so the contract is already written up. From what I know of nurse's wages this will be a temporary, but significant pay rise for you,” he finishes. In reality I have already made up my mind, there is no point in discussing it any further.   
“Really, you don't have to sell this job offer to me any more than you already have. It isn't even about the money, I would've agreed to this even if you paid me in matches and paper clips.”   
“Is that a yes, then?”   
“Too bloody right it is!” A wide smile threatens to damage my cheeks, but I can't stop smiling. Whenever I was watching any of the Top Gear specials I couldn't help but feel jealous, because they seemed to experience so many amazing things. Naturally I was aware that the trips were far from easy, or stress-free, but considering all the wonderful things they got to see and experience it seemed to be very much worth it.   
“Great! Fantastic, glad to have you on board,” Andy exclaims.   
“Uhm... I realise I should've asked this earlier, but were are we going, exactly?” I ask feebly, realising it hasn't been mentioned.   
“Eastern Africa! I'm sorry, I should have said. We'll start in Uganda, then most likely drive to Rwanda and to Tanzania. That's the plan anyway. Sound all right?”  
“Sounds perfect!” We agree to a meeting a few days later at the BBC to 'sort out the details' as Andy has put it. Then I will be given more detailed information about the plans for the trip, how many we will be in the crew and so on. For once in my entire life I am glad I don't have a permanent position at the hospital. With all the planning and preparations I am suddenly facing I doubt I will have much time to do any 'regular' work at all before I leave, and then I will be gone for over a week for the actual filming. Still smiling like an idiot I call up the hospital and inform my boss of the situation. At first he seems annoyed, thoroughly disliking 'losing' an employee that is nearly always available when needed. To that I reply that if I am so important he should offer me permanent position. His tone completely changes when I explain to him why I am going to be unavailable for a while, apparently my boss is a major fan of Top Gear and is suddenly very excited on my behalf. I can't help but wonder if Richard has had anything to do with this. Was he the one who had suggested this, perhaps? Or mentioned my name when the suggestion had come up? I consider calling him to ask, but decide not to. If he doesn't know anything about it, I want to surprise him with it. 

A couple of days later I find myself in London, a place I haven't been to at all since I moved out to Guildford. After much stress and a few wrong turns I finally find the BBC building where I meet Andy for an early, but effective meeting in which he quickly runs through the contract with me and I sign the dotted lines. We're scheduled to leave in exactly a month, flying via Amsterdam to Nairobi, Kenya and then over to Uganda. I'm shocked at the sheer amount of people when Andy hands me the list of the crew. I raise an eyebrow at him over the top of the list.   
“What the hell do all these people even do?”   
“Well, there's the three blithering idiots, me, you, the camera guys, sound techs, a gaffer, a few mechanics, a few production assistants, travel management...” Andy rambles, counting everyone off on his fingers.  
“What, no hair and makeup?” I ask with a smirk.  
“Have you seen the state of those three towards the end of a special? No stylist would come within ten feet of either of them with their armpits and scruffy beards... We actually burned their clothes after the Bolivia special.”  
“Aah, I can see your point,” I concede with a slow nod, chuckling.   
“By the way, I talked to Emily just now, she can meet with you today if you have time for it.” For a moment I stare blankly at him, the name not ringing a bell.  
“Emily?”  
“James' girlfriend. The nurse I told you about?” He gently reminds me.   
“Oh, yes, I'm with you now!” Suddenly I remember what he is on about. “Sorry, I haven't met her so I haven't caught her name, to be honest.”  
“Well, she said she'd be home all day and that she has put together some material for you, you were welcome to stop by.” Andy hands me a note with her address and her phone number. We sit around and chat for a little while longer, mostly I get the feeling that Andy wants to get to know me a little better, but eventually he excuses himself with having to get back to a boring, but rather massive pile of work. Looking at the piles and piles of papers stacked around his office I believe him, bid him farewell and leaves his office. Trying to find my way out of the unfathomable maze that is the BBC building I send an awkward text to this Emily-person, asking if she indeed has time to see me and where I should meet her. Within a few minutes my phone pings with a reply, letting me know that of course she has time, but would I mind stopping by her place? I don't mind, so I let her know I'm on my way, get in my car and punch in the address which turns out to be somewhere in Hammersmith, an area I'm not much familiar with. When I lived in London I spent my first years around Camden and Kentish town, before moving out to the Docklands, which was just cheaper, and on the complete opposite side of town to Hammersmith. The GPS leads me out onto a few major roads leading me in the right direction, before taking me into a residential area right off the A4, eventually guiding me into one of the narrowest, sweetest little oneway streets I had ever seen. Inwardly I curse my Touran, which suddenly seem enormous now that I have to park it in this tiny street, but thankfully people are away at work still and there is a few free spots. Feeling oddly nervous I knock on the door to the house with the right number on it. As soon as the door open I'm sure I must have the wrong address. The short woman smiling at me is young, with shoulder length, wavy blonde hair and pale blue eyes. But by the way she is looking at me, it seems as if I am expected. Maybe she has a daughter? Or a cleaning lady?   
“Ronja, I assume?” She asks in a flowing sort of voice, stretching out a hand.   
“Oh, yes, that's me, I guess you must be.. um.. Emily?” I reply, shaking her hand timidly. I'm so uncertain of this being her that I almost brace for her to laugh at me or get offended.  
“Yes, I am, how nice to meet you,” she answers politely. She has the same mild-mannered, intelligent, gentle sort of air about her that James has. But she is so much younger than I have expected. How old is she, about my age? Maybe even younger. 'You go, James...' I think to myself. Taking a step backwards she opens the door wider, inviting me into the house. “Come in, please. Fancy a cup of tea?” The woman disappears into the kitchen and I trail after her.   
“Yes, please, that would be lovely.” She gestures to a kitchen chair, then opens the very colourful, retro SMEG fridge and takes out a jar of milk before flicking on the kettle.   
“Andy told me you're trained as a nurse, but you work on Top Gear now?” She asks, leaning against the kitchen counter as she waits for the kettle to come to a boil. If I concentrate I can pick up a slight hint of a Norwegian accent, but its so slight to be almost negligible.  
“Well, I did work on Top Gear, I just helped around the studio when the latest seasons was filmed. It was the typical “I know a bloke who knows a bloke” scenario, some tech assistant suddenly broke his arm and couldn't do the series so I stepped in, I needed a break from nursing anyway,” I jabber, sitting down by the table. “I'm working as a nurse again now, in Guildford, at the A&E.”  
“I know what you mean about needing a break sometimes, I work at a neonatal ward and had this intense case this summer that made me want to drop everything and quit for a while.”   
“Yeah, babies and children are always the worst,” I mumble darkly.  
“Agreed.” Having finished making tea Emily sits down by opposite me by the kitchen table and hands me a steaming mug. “Apologies for how I look, I'm having an... indoor sort of day,” she apologises. “I hope you're not allergic to cats, by the way?”   
“What? No, no, not at all, I have a dog myself, I love animals.”   
“That's good. That over there is Fusker,” she says, pointing to the back of a black cat I haven't even noticed. It is sitting in the kitchen windowsill staring out onto the street. “He's on the lookout for James, waiting for him to come home. It's his cat.” I had just been about to have a sip of tea when she mentions this, and I nearly choke on it.   
“This is James' house?” I ask incredulously, swallowing ungraciously. Andy could have warned me about that.  
“Yes, it is. Well, I say it's his house, but he says it's our house,” she says with a loving smile. “I've only lived here for... wow, six months already. Time flies, I guess,” she shrugs. Straightening up in her chair she turns her attention to the pile of papers on the kitchen table. “Anyway. This is what I managed to rustle up after Andy called me a few days ago. I sorted out all the things that won't be relevant to you. There is an overview of the diseases a tourist is most likely to attract when in eastern Africa, it lists all the early symptoms, treatments and severity. Other than that there is mostly information on the different types of anti-malaria medication and bug spray, some info on the oral cholera vaccine, various suggestion on what you would need in your kit for this sort of trip, equipment and medication you might need, various type of antibacterial wipes and gels...”   
“Wow, this is great, this is exactly the sort of thing I need,” I sigh gratefully as I rifle through the papers.   
“I'm not going to pretend like I'm not awfully jealous,” she admits with a sad little smile. “It's... just not a good time for me, I started a new job about four months ago, I love it and its full time, I'm already working too much. And as much as I miss James when he's away, I doubt that coming with them on a shoot would be a good solution. James and I just went to Bali, I much prefer travelling with him that way,” she adds, a secretive, serene little smile flitting across her face.   
“Bali? Yeah, that sounds... lovely,” I mumble.   
“Anyway, I hope this is enough information for you. I didn't bother including anything about the importance of hygiene and things like that, you are already a nurse so you know these things as well as I do. Just... Remind them to wash their hands a million times a day. No, don't remind them, order them, or they won't listen,” she adds as an afterthought.   
“Oh I will, don't worry,” I chuckle, nodding my head. “Thank you so much, this is a big help.”   
“Oh, not at all, I didn't mind. You will after all be the one who has to take care of James if anything happens to him, of course I'm going to make sure you're well prepared!” She says with a smile, then takes a sip of her tea. My curiosity about her is driving me up the wall, and I can't contain it any longer.   
“When Andy told me about you, he said you were Norwegian? I just wanted to ask, because I grew up in Norway too, and it was such a funny coincidence,” I add hurriedly.   
“What? No way! You're from Norway?” She almost shrieks, and this outburst from the otherwise mild-spoken woman has me nearly toppling backwards.   
“Yes, I am,” I stammer when I have rallied a little. Stunned for words she stares at me for a while.   
“That is just... absurd! I know that its a small world, but still! You must've lived here for a long time, there is no way I would have guessed that you come from anywhere but London,” she says, surprise still written all over her.   
“Nearly 12 years now. I came here when I was 18, started school, got my BA in nursing, found a job and I haven't really looked back. And you? How long have you been here? If you don't mind me asking,” I hasten to add, aware that I tend to ask questions that are too personal.  
“I moved here last summer, my plan was to come here and take this diploma in Tropical Nursing, work a little on the side and eventually move back home. But I also met James that summer, eventually we got together and.. well, here I am,” she says, throwing her arms out to the side. “I miss Norway sometimes though, I miss my family mostly. I don't miss the winters.”   
“The only thing I miss about Norway is the mountains. Being in the mountains in the summer with your dog, above the altitude tree line... The colours, the wide open spaces, the fresh air. I miss that. I can barely remember what the winters was like, except how utterly miserable they were.” At this we snort in unison. “I'm guess you're stuck here, now that you've found James and everything.”   
“Yeah, I am, but I'm stuck on a very... voluntary basis. I would never ask James to move to Norway with me, his job is here and.. I want to be where he is. By the sound of it you have no plans to go back either?” She asks knowingly. She's a nurse, and as most nurses she is well skilled in the art of communicating with people and picking up on the most subtle of nuances in them. I have no doubt she has picked up on the troubled relationship I have with Norway, and the life I once had there.   
“No, not at all, I like this bloody country too much,” I smile, trying to deflect any further inquiries into the subject. Emily takes the hint and doesn't ask any more questions. “Is it okay that I borrow these from you? I can make copies, bring them back to you quickly if you need them,” I offer, picking up the stack of papers.   
“Oh just keep them, bring them back to me when you get home from the trip. But only if you  
also promise to bring with you several thousand photos!”   
“No problem there, I love taking photos, I always come home with several full memory cards,” I assure her. “Again, thank you so much for this. I better get started on the way home, if I leave now I might be lucky and miss the afternoon rush. I have a restless dog waiting at home,” I excuse myself.   
“No need to thank me. If you have any questions or something, feel free to call me or send a text, I'm glad to help out. I have to admit I feel a little better knowing they're bringing someone like you along this time around, it just feels safer. The reason James and I even met at all was because he nearly crushed his stupid head in Syria. So I'm glad you're going with them,” she says with a sincere smile.   
“Thank you. I'll try to look after them as best I can,” I promise. “Even if I imagine it'll be like trying to herd cats.” 

 

On my way home from London I decide to wait until the next time I see Richard to tell him my news, childish as I am. I want to see his face, see the surprise and hopefully the excitement on it. Luckily I know I will be seeing him tomorrow, as we have planned that I am going to his place for the weekend. He has been busy with work for the last couple of weeks, and so have I, our schedules have always overlapped and this is the longest we've gone without seeing each other since we started hanging out. Which is why it feels like such a relief to be driving up the road to his house the next day. Sprocket begins his customary, excited howling the moment he recognises his surroundings. Having parked the car I let Sprocket out. The door of the house opens and Richard lets his dogs out so they can run around on the property on their own and exercise themselves. Its chilly outside so we quickly shuffle inside to get warm, and Richard habitually sets about making tea. At this point Richard is jabbering non stop, like he always does, full of stories and jokes to tell, but I sense that something is up with him anyway. I can't put my finger on it, but something is just a little off, he seems a little preoccupied but he tries to hide it. He places my mug in front of me before sitting down in his usual chair. The constant flow of words has stopped, and his facial expression changes.   
«Listen, I have something to tell you...» His voice is uncharacteristically serious.  
«Okay...?» I frown, not completely unprepared for this announcement, but having no idea what might come next.  
«Ron... I'm pregnant.» There is a moment of stunned silence. Unable to come up with any sort of sensible reply, I decide to just play along.  
«Really? But... but we've been so careful!» I protest.  
«Yes, I know, but still...,» he complains.   
«Are you sure?» I ask in a worried tone.  
«Yes, I'm sure!»  
«But are you sure it's mine?»  
«Yes, of course I am, I'm not a slut!» He barks indignantly, his feelings obviously hurt.  
«Ok, all right, sorry.. How can you tell, though? Are you... late?» At this point Richard can't keep a straight face any longer, he screws up his eyes and guffaws with laughter.  
«I sincerely hope you realise that I am talking about Teegee,» he snorts when his laughter abates somewhat.  
«Well, I was very much hoping that it was,» I retort with a giggle.  
«Yes, I'm sure, I took her to the vet. She started eating less and her nipples started.. you know...,” he mumbles, gesturing vaguely to his own chest, the grown man actually blushing when trying to talk about swollen dog-nipples. “Anyway, I suspected what was up. All my dogs have been... ahem, removed of their manhood, so I suspect Sprocket might be the culprit, he's the only other male dog she's been around lately.»  
«Oh, Richard. I'm... sorry, I haven't even considered that it could happen. I mean, its been obvious to both of us that Sprocket and Teegee have been.. ahem, going steady as it were, for quite a while now. Probably since the day they met, to be honest. But I thought they'd wait a little longer before they decided to start a family. Apparently I haven't taught Sprocket enough about responsibility and making smart choices...» At this Richard chuckle again.  
«Don't worry about it. Honestly I haven't even registered that she's been in heat. But Sprocket did, the scoundrel! Shall we agree to just share the blame? Or better yet, just blame it on the dogs?”  
“Agreed,” I nod.  
“Anyway, it's all good though, she's not too old to have puppies and they're both labradoodles, so I imagine it won't be too hard to find them new owners,” he shrugs, ever the positive thinker.  
«Ooh, Richard! We're having puppies!” I squeal, imagining the fluffy little bundles we'll have in a few months time.  
“I know! I'm kind of excited too!” He admits, smiling happily.   
“I'll help out with everything, I swear. Having puppies can be a lot of work.”  
“Thanks, much appreciated!” A little silence falls in which we both have a sip of our tea.   
“You know, Richard... I also have some news to tell you,” I admit, already feeling the urge to smile but trying to hide it. His face goes ashen and his eyes widen.  
“Are you having puppies too?” He asks, and I can't help but laugh.   
“God no, not at all, neither human nor canine ones. The news is that I've um... been offered a job.”   
“A job? At the hospital? Have they finally offered you something on a more permanent basis?” He asks, stirring absent-mindedly in his mug.   
“No, it's not the hospital. I've been asked to.. um... come with you guys, actually. To Eastern Africa.” I finish the sentence quickly, wanting to get it out and get it over with. All of a sudden I feel incredibly nervous, worried that he might get annoyed or angry with these news, even if I really can't think of any reason why he would.   
“What? On the special episode shoot? With Top Gear?” He asks, his face just sheer surprise.   
“Er... yeah,” I admit, squirming a little. “Andy called me. Apparently they've realised it might be good to have a nurse on the crew, there's been a few small accidents and someone is bound to get sick on travels like that.”  
“Oh, so you'd be there as a nurse?” Richards confusion seem to lessen somewhat.   
“Yeah, I'd be the sort of... Top Gear Top Health person. I'd be there to patch everyone up, treat whatever ails them and make sure no one gets malaria.” A wide grin spreads across Richard's face.   
“But this is great! You're coming with me to Africa! I'm so excited, it'll be so much fun!” He exclaims eagerly. “You took the job, right?”  
“Yes, I did, actually. And I'm glad you're excited, I was worried you wouldn't be,” I admit with relief.  
“Why on earth wouldn't I be?” Richard frowns, looking puzzled.  
“I don't know, to be honest. I just was.”   
“Oh shut up, we met on Top Gear! Of course I'm excited you're coming with us!”  
“So you knew nothing about this?” I ask suspiciously.  
“What, me? No, nothing. Why should I?” He answers with what seems to be genuine bafflement.  
“Well, when Andy asked me to come, I wondered if maybe.. it was your idea to bring a nurse along? Or, if you had been the one to suggest my name? I mean, it just seems strange that they suddenly decided to get a nurse, and to ask me.” I study him intently, searching for any subtleties that might reveal the truth.   
“I had nothing to do with this, Ron.” Richard raises his hands, showing his palms in a gesture of innocence. “I wasn't even at that meeting, I didn't know they'd decided to bring a nurse along. But its a good idea and one I fully support. And its even better when they decide to take my best mate!” He smiles widely. Out of all the things he says, the words 'best mate' is the only ones that stick. The fact that he would call me that touches me, I would have imagined that the only people he would call best mates was probably Jeremy and James. And maybe his ex-wife when he was still married to her.   
“Aaw, thank you Richard,” I mumble awkwardly, fiddling with my cup of tea. A few dog barks  
interrupt the moment, the pack have apparently decided they've had enough exercise and want to come inside. Richard jumps up from his chair and heads to the front door to let them inside.  
“So, are you excited about coming?” He asks as he re-enters the kitchen.   
“Of course I am! I've never been to Africa, but I've always wanted to. I can't wait to go! I know it won't be a holiday exactly, it's work and it can sometimes be pretty... exhausting and rough, but I'm even looking forward to those bits. Is that weird?”  
“No, it isn't weird. But you might change your mind when you're in the middle of it,” he says with a knowing smirk. “


	6. The one in Africa

“Right, hello. I'm Ronja, as some of you might know.” I clear my throat, my voice is already threatening to give out. Damn it, why must my hands shake so much? Its just people? “I helped out in the studio on the last season of Top Gear. But I am also a trained nurse, I've been so for 8 years and spent about 5 of those working A&E's, in London mostly and now in Guildford, so I've seen my fair share of the absurd and awful. And that is why I am coming along on this shoot to Eastern Africa. People, you are looking at your new Top Gear Top Health... person..!” I announce with mock pride in my voice, and to my surprise and relief the audience actually laughs. “Now, my main goal for trip is that you all survive it, basically - I'm not very ambitious, lets face it.” Another wave of giggles ripple through the audience. “To ensure your survival I am going to try and see to it that none of you gets malaria, cholera or any other exotic diseases, because we all know those can make you feel a bit under the weather, as it were. This means I am going to make sure you all take your malaria pills each morning and wash your hands about fifteen times a day. But if you do end up with a bad sunburn, the trots or a fever I will be carrying remedies to help ease that sort of thing. Other than that I'll also be on hand to have a look at whatever nicks, cuts, bruises and stings you might get, but nine times out of ten I will most likely just point and laugh, maybe offer you a plaster. Whatever other ailments you might have; genital warts, halitosis, erectile dysfunction, voices in your head telling you to kill Jeremy – I'd appreciate it if you saw your regular physician about those, because I am thoroughly not interested. All right?” This is met with a mixture of nods, laughter and appreciative mumbling.  
“I always have voices in my head that are telling me to kill Jeremy..” James mumbles.  
“Maybe don't bring your machete this time?” I suggest pleadingly at James, and he chuckles. I let my eyes flick quickly over to the corner where Richard is sitting, Jeremy and Jezza either side of him. Richard gives me a wide, encouraging smile and a nod, as if to say 'go on, you're doing fine'. “Okay, moving on. For malaria protection there are two types, there's Lariam which is taken once a week and Malarone which you have to take daily. I have, however, decided that we're all going to take Malarone, just because there are significantly less nasty side effects with these, even if it means a lot more work for me who has to make sure you all take them every day. The substance in Lariam can trigger anxiety, paranoia, depressions, hallucinations and full blown psychosis, and I think we have more than enough latent insanity in this group already.” More laughter from the crew. “I am sending one pill of Malarone with all of you today, you have to take that the day before we leave. I'll send each and every one of you a text to remind you to take it, because my job is not to trust you. The rest of the malaria medication will be my responsibility, because I don't want to hear the words 'ops, forgot my malaria pills on the kitchen counter' when we're somewhere in Uganda.”  
“She's awfully strict. I think I like her,” Jezza hisses in a carrying whisper. I decide to ignore him.  
“Today I am also going to give all of you a cholera vaccination. This is an oral vaccine..” Here I pause to wait for the predictable giggling to subside. “.. which means that you can drink it, no pesky needles involved. It's even raspberry flavoured. Any questions so far?” Scattered shaking of heads and mumbling among the audience. “Good. Lastly I just want to say that I can't wait to go, and I'm very grateful that I was asked to come along. But even though my job will be to sort of look after you, that doesn't mean that you are exempt from the responsibility of taking care of yourselves. Do **not** come complaining to me about severe sunburns if you think you're too much of a man to use sunscreen on the bloody Equator. Right, lets start on these cholera vaccines, shall we?” Relieved that the task of introducing myself and my new 'job' to the crew was over, I set about handing out vaccines and malaria pills, crossing everyone off the lists as I go. While I had been doing research and preparing for the trip, I realised that I should meet the entire crew before we set off, to introduce myself, give some information and administer the cholera vaccine. The entire crew plus presenters were scheduled to have their last briefing about the trip about a week before we were leaving, and Andy had said I was welcome to do and say what I needed at the end of it. I had been dreading it for weeks despite the fact that I knew quite a few of them already. Now that it was over, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Almost two weeks later I am lying on a blanket on the ground, staring mesmerized at the radiant, African sunset over Lake Edward, somewhere in Queen Elizabeth National Park, Uganda. Most of the crew are gathered around a huge bonfire, but I've moved away from the group, hiding behind James' car. I've moved far enough to not be disturbed by the lights from the bonfire or the noise of the crew - I need a moment to myself. The sun has almost set, and I am lying on a blanket watching the remnants of it I. am having what I can only refer to as a 'Disney-moment'. The skies are so much bigger in Africa than anywhere else I have ever been, absolutely massive and majestic to behold. This far from any major city or settlement, without any light pollution, the starry sky is nothing short of magical, five times as many stars are visible out here than I have ever seen before. Coming here has been exhausting – during the day I am constantly wet with sweat, and a few times I've been so hot I genuinely thought I was going to die. And at night the sweat dries into a fine crust of salt mixed with the dust from the red earth. The roads are an absolute nightmare as well. But nevertheless, being here is a dream fulfilled, and I have absolutely fallen in love with Uganda. I had pictured dry, savannah-like landscapes, but in stead I am met with a country overflowing with lush, green vegetation and red earth thanks to lake Victoria and the Nile. It has breathtaking views of green hills, fresh fruit to die for and happy, welcoming, inquisitive people. Its as far away from the monochrome everyday life of England imaginable, and I'm in love with it, utterly enchanted by it.  
“Ron?” Richard's voice pulls me out of my reverie, it comes closer as he searches for me. “Ron!”  
“I'm here,” I answer mildly, and sit up a little. Its getting dark, and I can't be easy to see here on the ground, hidden between two parked cars.  
“Ron, you okay?” Richard spots me and approaches me timidly.  
“Hm? Oh yeah, I'm fine,” I wave, looking at him over my shoulder.  
“I noticed you were gone, I got worried... I'm sorry. Want me to go?” He asks gently, pointing in the direction where the noises of the group are coming from.  
“No, you don't have to,” I smile at him, then turn back to the sunset. Only a sliver of gold is visible over the horizon now, and the skies above have turned to a dark blue, the stars starting to appear. Richard potters over and sits down next to me on the blanket.  
“Sure you're okay?” He persist, nudging me lightly with an elbow.  
“Will you shut up for a moment and look at what is going on around you?” I say with a serene smile, looking upwards. “Look at that.” Billions upon billions of stars are becoming visible in the night skies above us. There is a moment of silence in which Richard only gasps.  
“Wow.” He sinks down onto he blanket next to me, staring unblinkingly at the amazing view overhead. After a long, serene silence I clear my throat.  
“You see, Richard, sometimes you just have to... Take a moment to fully appreciate where you are. Coming to Africa has been a dream of mine ever since I... Since I saw Lion King as a kid, probably, and now I'm here. I'm actually here. And I might never get to see skies like that ever again. So don't worry, I'm okay, Richard. I'm very okay.”  
“... wow...” he repeats, still hypnotised by what he sees. After another long silence he points. “What is that?” Following the line of his finger I eventually see what he's pointing at – a glowing little dot hovering over the bushes not far from us.  
“Fireflies!” I gasp, grinning even wider.  
“Those really exist down here?” He frowns.  
“Yes!” More and more of them pops up, glowing with a green-ish yellow light as they hover over the bushes. “Aw, look, they're pretty,” I croon. "All of this is... perfect."  
“... The only thing missing now is a cheeky baboon with a stick that hops down from a tree to recite riddles of wisdom..” Richard mumbles, obviously having seen The Lion King too, and I laugh loudly.  
“.. And some clouds taking the shape of a lion?” I reply with a smirk. “By the way, his name was Rafiki, you numpty.” 

Later that night I'm in my tent, trying to find sleep. The camp has gradually grown quiet, and a few snores here and there are all that can be heard now. As the only female to come along on this particular shoot I have a tent all to myself. In an effort to make everyone relatively comfortable, we have all been equipped with these rather decadent camp cots to sleep on, in stead of thin and hard sleeping pads. With a frustrated huff I shift on the cot, trying desperately to find a comfortable position.  
“Pssst. Ron. You awake?” Richard's voice is barely audible through the tent fabric. There is a definite edge of distress to it.  
“Yes. What is it?” I answer in a hushed, but annoyed whisper. The presenters have all been told to sleep in their cars, as they all have station wagons which have been fitted with places to sleep in the back. When the zip on my tent opens a little I turn on the little LED camper light to see what is going on, as the tent is pitch black.  
“There's something in my car and its squeaking at me and its sounds massive, like the size of Jezza's head and I can't sleep, can I please please sleep in your tent?” His voice is nothing but a high-pitched squeak of a plea, and he stares at me with begging, wide eyes. I almost have to bite my lip in an effort not to laugh at him, but he seems so genuinely panicked I don't have the heart to mock him.  
“All right, go on,” I sigh and roll my eyes at him.  
“God bless you,” he sighs and hurriedly opens the tent zip to get inside as quickly as possible, away from the horrors in his car. Having relied on the fact that I would say yes, Richard already has his pillow and blanket with him. “I can sleep on the floor, its okay,” he says, throwing his pillow down on the tent floor. The tent is set on hard dirt and wouldn't make for a comfortable nights sleep.  
“Oh just get in here, will you,” I grumble, but not unkindly. He stares at me with a sceptical frown, but throws his pillow on the cot when he decides that he'll rather give it a try than stay on the hard ground. Gingerly, as if worried we'll both fall out at any second, Richard climbs onto the cot behind me, the cot is narrow and will only fit the both of us if we lie on our sides. I scoot over to the very edge to give him as much room as I can. I feel his chest press against my back and his breath against the back of my neck as he comes to rest behind me. I do my best to ignore my quickening heart rate.  
“I... think I have to do this or you'll fall out.” His arm closes around my waist, holding me tight, preventing me from toppling over the edge of the cot.  
“Just... don't breathe or sneeze and we'll be fine,” I answer, patting his hand and smiling a little in the darkness of the tent. "This is going to look so very suspicious if anyone opens that telt flap," i add.  
"But you saved me from certain death. Thats not suspicious, thats heroic," Richard insists. I can't help but giggle. “Thanks, Ron. I might actually get some sleep, now,” he mumbles, his voice already more relaxed. The sound of Richard's breathing, the feel of his body close to mine, his warmth and the way he is holding me, it all feels comforting and soothing, despite the fact that we are both crammed together on a cot that isn't even a meter wide. 

The sound of people shouting wakes me up. It must still be in the very early moments of dawn, the sun hasn't risen yet and the light inside the tent has gone from pitch black to a greyish blue. A cacophony of different voices chatter around us.  
“Hammond!”  
“Richard...?”  
“What's the hell is going on?”  
“Richard isn't in his car, its empty.”  
“What's up?”  
“Richard's gone.”  
“Oh, he's probably just off for a piss.”  
“Hammond, where are you mate?”  
“Richaaaaard!” Miraculously Richard is still sleeping soundly behind me.  
“Richard!” I hiss. He sighs and grunts, and I have to nudge him with my elbow to try and coax life into him. “Richard! Wake up!”  
“What?” He grumbles.  
“The entire crew is up looking for you, they think you've been eaten by a lion during the night. Maybe you should say something before they launch a search party?” I suggest in a hissing whisper, not really wanting to be heard talking to him. Looking over my shoulder I see that Richard has opened his eyes. For a moment he listens intently to everyone shouting his name, then he draws a breath and shouts back.  
“Oi! People! Will you stop that bloody racket!” All the voices around us stop talking, and those who don't get shushed by the others. “I'm in here, I'm fine, I haven't been eaten by a hippopotamus!” Richard continues. “Now shut he hell up, its too bloody early.” The deafening silence outside is soon replaced by hushed murmurs.  
“Was that Richard?”  
“Where is he?”  
“I don't know.”  
“I think it came from Ronja's tent.”  
“He's in Ronja's tent?”  
“Ooooh.”  
“Dirty bugger.” At the sound of the first cat-call whistle my patience snaps.  
“Everyone shut up! I suggest that you do not anger the _one_ person in this crew who carries both heavy sedatives and suture kits! The next one of you who is stupid enough to whistle better watch his tea very carefully, because I _will_ slip drugs into it and personally sew your mouth shut.” Absolute silence follows this threat, then everyone busies themselves with either going back to sleep or starting on breakfast.  
“And that is exactly why you are my best mate,” Richard hums happily. I nearly topple out of the cot when he plants a kiss on the back of my neck.  
“Go back to sleep,” I mumble, my face glowing red. Richard does, his arm eventually getting heavier where it is draped over me as he falls asleep again. I try to find sleep again as well, but quickly realise that I can't, my thoughts are too chaotic and now that everyone else knows Richard is in here with me I just can't relax. As slowly and carefully as possible I try to inch myself free from his grasp.  
“What are you doing?” He mutters, not even bothering to open his eyes.  
“Getting up. Ssh, go back to sleep.”  
“But it got cold...” He winces childishly, pulling his blanket further up his chest, already half asleep again. Shaking my head at him I shove on my shoes, grab my jacket and scramble out of the tent. Most people seem to be awake by now, milling around the fire waiting for the water for their tea to boil. I shuffle away from them, not quite ready for the mocking and torture just yet, and sit down on the bonnet of a car to light up a cigarette.  
“Morning.” Jeremy's voice is barely recognisable, still hoarse and heavy with sleep. He leans against the car I'm sitting on and also sparks up. I have never seen a man who can look as tired and scruffy in the morning as this man. I mean, everyone looks a little dishevelled in the first twenty minutes of being awake, but Jezza always looks like a complete disaster area.  
“Morning, Jez,” I answer in a neutral tone.  
“So, about you and Hammond...” Before he is able to utter another word I turn and give him a mean glare.  
“Don't you even start, Jeremy. I still carry that screwdriver!” I remind him, really not in the mood for his antics.  
“No, I wasn't, I mean, I didn't mean to um.. ” he splutters, his facial expression one I had never seen on him before. There was no teasing glint in his eyes, no evil smirk on his lips.  
“Jeremy... Richard and I are just friends, okay? Despite what everyone might be whispering right now. He just slept in my tent because there was some huge bug or something in his car that was making funny noises at him, he was scared out of his wits the poor man,” I explained.  
“I didn't come over here to make fun of you,” Jeremy replies in such an honest, serious way that my mouth falls slightly open with shock. “ I just... I've known Richard for a long time, and he... doesn't have his head on straight these days. He.. isn't quite himself, he hasn't been since his marriage blew up in his face. He really wasn't prepared for that, he didn't see it coming even when a lot of us others did.”  
“O.. kay...” I mumble slowly, trying to figure out where this might be headed.  
“He's.. confused, and lost, and vulnerable, even though he tries to act like he he's just fine, but he isn't, he isn't thinking clearly and you know how impulsive he can be, he can do such stupid things sometimes...”  
“Jeremy,” I cut in sharply, trying to stop his incoherent rambling. “What are you even trying to say?” Jeremy looks at me and sighs heavily, his massive shoulders sagging.  
“I don't even know, to be honest,” he admits. “I just.. worry about him.”  
“Are you worried that I'll hurt him?” I ask, feeling a little defensive.  
“No. Well yes. Maybe.” He squirms under my stare. “Maybe I'm worried that he will end up hurting _you_. He's grown very... attached to you, and he's become dependent on you.” Words like these seem utterly alien when coming from Jeremy's mouth, but he is still standing here saying them to me all the same, in all seriousness.  
“But we're just friends, Jeremy. Good friends, sure, but that's all there is. And I don't expect anything from him, I know he's a mess. I'm just taking care of my mate, just the same way you are.”  
“But you have.. lady-bits,” he argues feebly, this 6 foot 5 inch man reduced to an eight year old.  
“And hence I can't be his mate?” I frown, struggling to understand the argument. Jezza cracks a smile at his own stupidity.  
“Technically you should be able to, but this is Richard we're talking about...”  
“You know, that man has seen me at 7 in the morning walking the dogs with a massive hangover, wearing a pyjama with cats on it, bright red wellies, last nights make-up and a bed-head that you wouldn't even believe. Any chance of him ever being romantically interested in me pretty much evaporated forever that morning.” Jeremy graces me with his raspy laugh. “Jeremy, I get it. I'll tread carefully around him, and I'll do my best not to hurt him. Its the last thing on earth I want to do, he's broken enough as it is. And I won't let him hurt me, I can take care of myself.”  
“I suspect you can,” he admits, tossing his fag end on the ground and treading on it. “Did he really run off into your tent just because of a bug?” There it was, that evil, mocking grin.  
“Yes. He was terrified, said it reminded him of you, it had your teeth.” 

I had thought that going to Africa was going to be a huge culture shock, but it was nothing compared to the culture shock of coming back home. That became evident before I even re-entered England. Travelling down from Amsterdam to Kenya, and then on to Uganda, I remember looking at Entebbe Airport with a mixture of excitement and foreboding. Its not easy to put my finger on it, but looking at that airport I felt like I was really leaving the world I knew behind, and entering an area of the world characterised by poverty, corruption and a dash of chaos. It was something about the poor, cheap lighting, the absence of that overwhelming amount of ads and commercialism that normally meets you at an airport. Not to mention the strange smells. Driving out of Entebbe Airport the first thing I saw was two muslims on their knees, praying to Mekka on their rolled-out mats in the middle of a grassy roundabout. Definitely a different world. But having driven through three African countries, through absolute nothing and through the smallest, most poverty-ridden cities you could imagine, everything had changed. The airport that had seemed so small and dingy, so dark and so strange to me that it was almost scary, now really felt like coming back to Civilisation. With a big C. In just over a week, my view of the world had completely changed. In Uganda, an African man had approached Andy, whom he perceptively had recognised as the leader of our group. And without much in the way of presentation or small talk he had asked if Andy would give me to him for the purpose of marriage, for the amount of oh.. say, about a hundred cows? I was the only woman in the group, and therefore I must be theirs to own and sell as they wished, the African had deduced. And I was very much an exotic item for him, with my pale skin, my light green eyes and my soft, brown hair. Andy politely declined, but afterwards the incident made for much mocking hilarity on my account. The threat hung over me for the rest of the trip: 'watch it or I'll sell you for a couple of cows'. Just the fact that we white people had actual hair on our arms seemed utterly baffling for the hordes of inquisitive African children that always surrounded us whenever we were in any sort of settlement. They were everywhere, inspecting our equipment and greeting and teasing these strange, white people.  
“Why do they keep stroking my arms?” James asked over the heads of the chattering children, he looked extremely put upon, never the biggest fan of human contact.  
“Because you are the most hairy baboon of us all, May. We have hairy arms. Look at theirs. Have you ever seen an adult African with hairy arms?” I was quite proud of myself for having sussed this one out. James stared at his own arms, then at the arms of the children, fascinated horror and enlightenment in his eyes.  
Coming back to England, I felt paralysed by a feeling of apathy. All this consumerism. All this waste. We have access to all these... things – food, safety, warmth, art, culture, music. We have everything, and yet we are so.. jaded. Maybe that's just the reason why we are – we have too much. We're cold, boring and uninviting. Not everyone, but the vast majority is. When you leave your apartment to shop at Sainsburys, you know exactly what will happen from the moment you leave your own hallway until the moment you are back. Things had seemed so much more exciting in Africa, you would never know what could happen on a simple, innocent trip to the grocery store. The power would cut out, a goat would wander randomly between a few aisles and coming back out you would be offered a hundred cows to marry someone. That very rarely happened anywhere in England. Yes, eastern Africa had been full of the things I had expected to see: worn out clothes, poorly constructed mud huts, lack of food and an even bigger lack of education. But never in my life had I seen such vibrant, inquisitive and joyful children. And those faces always stuck with me. All of these things marked each and every one of us who went on that trip together. “You weren't there, man. You don't know”.


	7. The one with the puppies

When I come back to England, it is very late November. I spend the entire first week or so wearing five layers of clothing, including woolly thermals, hats, scarves and mittens. I am constantly cold, I even sleep in thermal underwear. Aside from feeling apathetic and cold, I also feel rather disgruntled. I'm tired of having a job that is only on an “on call” basis. It means that I can never plan anything because suddenly I will be called up with a request to work the next day or three, and I can't afford to say no to shifts. My boss at the A&E in Guildford has tried to get me a more permanent position, but when there are none to give, there isn't much he can do. I can sense that a bout of job-searching is in my very near future, and I hate the idea of starting that again, writing CVs and doing interviews. I get even more disheartened when I realise that there really isn't much on offer in the Guildford area, which also means I might have to move on top of everything. I consider applying for jobs in London again, but part of me really doesn't want to go back there, at least not yet. In desperation I start searching for jobs in Oxford,Swindon, and Milton Keys, anywhere that is big enough to hold a hospital and in a suitable distance from London. 'And closer to Richard' a voice in the back of my head whispers knowingly. I try to ignore that voice. One day as I am on my computer, searching for jobs here and there, my phone rings.  
“Ronja, could I ask you a favour? I've been invited to this party in London, and I'd have to be away for like a day. The puppies could be born any day now and Kristin's husband is sick so I can't ask her to watch them. Could you come over here and babysit the dogs? I hate asking, but...”   
“No no, it's fine, of course I'll do it.” I am just as worried and excited about the puppies as Richard is, so I immediately say yes.  
“I mean, Teegee will probably sort everything on her own anyway, but just in case something happens...”  
“Richard, I said its okay! I don't have any plans anyway. And frankly, going to a party would probably do you some good,” I add sincerely. This is the first time since I started spending time with Richard that he has mentioned doing anything more social than going over to his mum's for tea. Getting out of the house and going to a party is probably exactly what he needs. 

I arrive at his house just as Richard throws a little overnight bag into his car. He looks great in a new, grey suit and crisp, white shirt. Climbing out of my car I have to concentrate not to stare a hole through him. Hurriedly, Richard informs me that he's taken the dogs for a long walk, that the number for a vet he knows is on the kitchen counter in case something happens, and that a pizza will arrive at his door in about thirty minutes. He gives me a hurried hug, thanks me once again for what I am doing and gets into his car. The smell of his aftershave lingers in my senses, making me feel light-headed. I have to shake my head in an effort to clear it. Entering the house, closely followed by Sprocket, I am greeted by Richard's pack. Teegee brings up the rear, lumbering heavily over the floor with her huge belly. I have my pizza and settle down with some wine and the telly. Eventually I give up on the TV, turn on some music and decide to read a book instead. As I open it I wonder how Richard is doing, if he's enjoying himself. Do I want him to enjoy himself? I don't know. With a sigh I open the book, needing to get Richard off my mind, his constant presence in my thoughts is annoying me. I become so caught up in my book that I am shocked when I notice that it is half past midnight and I have read for hours on end. Sensing the beginnings of a headache from my reading marathon, I close the book, thinking it is time I get to bed. Just as I get out of the sofa I hear the sound of car tires on gravel and see headlights flickering across the ceiling. Listening intently I hear a car door slam, then footsteps. Scanning the room I search for anything that can be used as a weapon, my eyes landing on a heavy iron fire-rake. Who the hell could it be at half past midnight? Please, don't be the ex wife again, please. Standing in the middle of the living room I stare at the front door, and nearly wince with fear when I see the doorknob rattle. Then the door bursts open and a dishevelled-looking Richard lumbers through it. He shuts the door clumsily behind him, despite trying to be quiet. Swaying a little on the spot he wrestles his jacket off and throws it unceremoniously on the coat stand, then kicks his shoes off. Taking a few steps forwards he suddenly notices me.   
“Ronja! You're still up!”   
“Bloody hell, Richard. I could have murdered you with this!” I shake the fire-rake at him, not really angry. “You all right?”  
“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. 'Mfine,” he waves and shuffles into the living room.   
“Who drove you here at this hour?” I frown, unable to contain my curiosity.   
“Taxi!”  
“From London?!”   
“Yeah,” he shrugs simply, as if the matter isn't even worth discussing. His glassy eyes and inability to stand completely still informs me that he's had enough to drink to be in for a bad hangover in the morning.   
“Sit down, I'll be right back.” By barely nudging his shoulders he loses balance and slumps down on the sofa. Returning a few minutes later, I hand him a glass of Berocca and a few paracetamol.   
“What is this?” He eyes it suspiciously.  
“Just shut up and drink it, you'll thank me in the morning.” Knowing better than to argue he accepts the glass and the tablets.   
“Any puppies yet?” He slurs, setting the glass down a little sloppily.   
“No, not yet. Can't be long, though, Teegee has just been lying in her crate all night, sleeping.”   
“Aw, poor thing,” he says, pulling a drunken yet sympathetic face.  
“You must've left the party pretty early?” I asks, far more concerned with why he is here and not still at the party, or at his flat in London.   
“Yeah, I just wanted to.. get home.”   
“Why?”  
“I wasn't enjoying myself,” he says evasively, shrugging casually.  
“You do know that you have a flat in London, right?”  
“Didn't want to go there.” His voice is almost sullen as he mumbles this.  
“Boring party?” I push.  
“No, I don't think it was, really, I just... Felt uncomfortable, I wanted to get out of there...” His elbows are on his knees and he stares down at his own folded hands. I can sense something is going on, something is stirring in him, so I keep quiet, hoping that he will start talking on his own. After a long silence in which he fidgets with his own hands, he does. “You know... For a long time there have been two things in my life that have been constant, that I've always been sure of; my career and my marriage. I don't know how to do this any more, Ronja. I don't know how to... go out and be sociable and dance and have fun and... not be married. I've been married for 11 years, I don't even remember what it was like to go out and chat women up and all that stuff, I don't even remember how to flirt!” He complains.  
“Well, that's a load of bollocks, and you know it. You know perfectly well how to flirt, you've done plenty of that even while you were married,” I can't help but smirk. I don't mean to be unkind, it is just a fact, a fact that Richard himself knows very well; he's the flirty type and always has been.  
“Well, all right,” he concedes. “But I don't remember how to do that and not be married while doing it! It feels strange, going out and not wearing a wedding ring. I've had women come up to me all night, trying to flirt with me and all I wanted was to leave. I should be happy, you know, I'm free and open and can do what I want, but I'm not happy. I just miss being married. I'm so bloody... lost, and confused and... I don't even know who I am any more,” he sighs. For a while I sit there in silence, a little shocked that Richard has just poured his heart out to me like that.   
“Richard, you can go out of an evening and not have to flirt with women – it's not a requirement. If women come up and flirt with you, then all right, flirt back, or … just don't. In any case, flirting doesn't mean that you have to start a relationship with her, or even take her home. Because... If it makes you feel this bad, then maybe it's too soon for flirting and all of that?” I speak mildly. “This takes time, Richard. You're allowed to be upset and lost and all the rest of it. Eventually you'll be able to go out and have fun again.”  
“Ugh, I don't want to see other people ever again, I just want to... sit here and be miserable,” he complains childishly.   
“Do I count as people? Because if I do, you would've been better off in your empty London apartment, you know,” I point out. Richard looks up at me.  
“I didn't want to be alone... You're the only one I seem to be able to be around,” he says, looking desperately unhappy. I sigh, thinking furiously, wanting to cheer him up, or at least comfort him in some way. Eventually I get up and walk over to the stereo. My iPod is still plugged to it and I scroll through it until I find a slow song, “Electric” by Madrugada. Returning to the sofa I stretch out a hand towards Richard.  
“Come on, dance with me.” It's more a command than a request. “No flirting, no romance or anything, just... dance with your mate.” After a moment's hesitation, Richard takes my hand and I nearly heave him up from the sofa. He trails after me a little unsteadily onto the open floor of the living room. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, but I stay at a respectful distance, this isn't that sort of dance. In return Richard snakes his arms around my waists and, sighing heavily, he leans into me and buries his face against my shoulder as if in search for a place to hide. He smells of alcohol mixed with his aftershave. I hug him a little tighter as we revolve slowly on the spot, running my hand over his hair. “I'm sorry you didn't have fun at the party.”  
“S'not your fault,” he mumbles.  
“Sort of, I said that going would do you good. I'm sorry you're upset.” We keep revolving on the spot while I run my hand over his back, desperately wanting to provide some comfort but not sure if I am making it better or worse. As if to answer my question, Richard makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a chuckle and suddenly lets go of me, taking a step back. There is a change in him, his hands clench up, so does his jaw, and his eyes go oddly blank. When he speaks he looks everywhere but at me.   
“Listen, I have to go to bed. Nite.” And with that he turns on his heels and disappears. Okay, so I made it worse. Great job. For a while I stand rooted to the spot, staring unblinkingly in the direction he went, trying to decide what to do. Then I decide that I am not going to let him do this. Turning off the music I slowly retrace Richard's steps. The door to his bedroom isn't fully closed, and even from the hallway I hear the choked sobs he is desperately trying to silence. Pushing the door open gently I peer inside, Richard is sprawled on the bed still fully clothed. His face is buried into a pillow that he is clutching, trying to muffle the sounds that escape him. Heart hammering in my chest, I cross the floor of his bedroom, knowing full well that I might be crossing several boundaries I really shouldn't cross. If he gets angry with me he really will have every right to be. Even so I crawl onto the bed behind him and inch up close. At first I just place my hand on his upper arm, letting him know that I'm there. He freezes for a moment, but he doesn't push me away or say anything. Emboldened by this I gingerly wrap my arm around him and I feel how he tenses up, fighting against the embrace for a fraction of a second. Then he relaxes again, giving up trying to silence his sobs. Giving in.  
“Richard, it's okay...” I soothe, caressing his arms. His body shakes against mine and I hold him a little tighter. Suddenly he moves, and for a confused split second I think he is moving away from me, getting out of bed. But instead he turns around in my arms and buries his face against my neck and chest, clinging on to me as if he is afraid I will disappear if he doesn't hold me tightly enough.   
“I'm just... scared. This is so fucking scary, Ron...,” he mutters through his sobs.  
“I know, I know it is... Its okay to be scared. I know you're feeling hurt and lost and confused. I've never had to go through what you're going through right now, but I've lost people who are important to me, too, and... I can imagine it might feel a little similar no matter how you lose them.” Richard doesn't say anything to this, he just holds me tighter and continues to sob. I let him cling on to me, there isn't much else I can do but to let him know that I'm there. Slowly I run my hand over his hair and his back, letting him work through all his bottled up fears and emotions.   
“I... can't breathe...” he mumbles, pulling away from me, but only an inch or so. It isn't the embrace that is suffocating him, it's his feelings, his hurt.   
“Yes, you can. Close your eyes, and breathe. Just focus on that.” He's going into a panic attack now, I recognise the symptoms, how it feels, because I've been here before, I've felt everything spiralling out of control. I've been at that point where all the grief and hurt towers over you, when it threatens to completely overwhelm you, to swallow you whole and slowly suffocate you. I place my palm on his chest, his heart thundering underneath my fingers. His chest heaves, his breathing far too rapid, he's hyperventilating. Taking hold of his wrist I guide his palm to my chest, placing it over my heart. “Breathe with me, all right? Just do what I do.” I breathe deeply and deliberately so he can feel it under his palm. I take in air through my nose and blow it out between my lips. Looking at him through the dim light of his bedroom his eyes are still closed, a frown on his brow as he is trying to concentrate, trying to regain control of himself. Tears still stream from his closed eyes. Bit by bit I feel how his breathing and his heart calms down. I run my palm over his chest in slow strokes. “Better?” I whisper. He just nods, removes his hand from my chest and wraps his arm around me again, not ready to look into my eyes just yet. Or be released from my embrace. “I know this hurts, Richard. It hurts so fucking bad you think it will actually suffocate and kill you. But you know... every human in the universe has had that feeling at some point in their life, I've had that feeling too. And... Eventually it starts to hurt less, and the vast, vast majority of people get through it somehow, one way or the other. And maybe even something good happens to most of them on the other end of it. ”  
“Is that your backhanded way of saying that I should just 'man up'?” His voice, muffled against me, is so gruffy I can't quite tell if he's making a joke or feeling a little offended.  
“No... Its my way of trying to tell you that even though this is probably the worst you've ever felt in your life, it's just... pain. And pain isn't dangerous, it won't kill you even if you feel like it might. It hurts like hell, but it won't always feel this bad. Maybe I'm strange, but I have always found some sort of odd comfort in that thought. I promise you, Richard, this will get better, you won't always feel this way. But it'll take time. And meanwhile... Don't do this to yourself, don't hide away like this. Don't go through this all on your own, because you don't have to. You'll need some support and comfort from people who care about you to get through this. And I'm one of those people. As much as you like to pretend that you can do this on your own, and say that you want to be left in peace, I'm not going to,” I finish firmly. Richard sighs heavily, then I feel him squeeze me a little.  
“Thanks...” he croaks. In the long silence that follow I just caress his back soothingly. His sobs have died down, but his body is still tense and trembling a little. “You know what's the scariest part?” His voice is thick from crying now, and he talks so quietly it is barely audible.   
“No. What is?” I ask in the same, quiet voice.  
“The thought that I'll be alone for the rest of my life.”  
“Aaw... That is a scary thought, but there's no way that will happen. Do you really think women will leave you alone for the rest of your life? You said it yourself, they've been coming up to you all night. Come on, you're cute, you're funny, you have great hair, lots of money, unusually good teeth for a Brit...” At this Richard lets out a little chuckle.  
“I'm sorry, I'm probably being... ridiculous,” he mumbles, sounding ashamed.   
“A little. But you're allowed to be right now. You know, you should look at it this way; at least you were married once! I haven't even been close to that! So, by deduction, if any of us is going to die alone it'll be me.”   
“That's bollocks,” he grumbles.   
“Oh, so its your certain destiny when you say it, and absolute bollocks when I do?” I say with a little smirk, poking him gently in the ribs.   
“Don't tease a man who just had a complete mental breakdown, you're a nurse, you should know better than that,” he argues, but chuckles despite himself as he tries to get hold of my wrist to stop my poking.  
“No, that's bollocks, you didn't have a breakdown. I think you really needed to get that out, you've been bottling it up for way too long.” Richard sighs, pulls away from me slightly and opens his eyes for the first time. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, sniffs and sighs again before daring to look at me. His eyes are red and puffy; he looks exhausted and sad.   
“Why are you always right?”  
“Because I'm smarter than you, shortarse,” I giggle. Having surreptitiously wriggled my wrist free from his grasp I poke him in the ribs again, but just once.   
“God, my head hurts.” Wincing, he clutches his forehead. Without even thinking, I run my hand through his hair and kiss his forehead quickly.   
“I know....” I run my hand over his hair again. “I gave you Panadol when you came home, they should kick in soon.”  
“Thanks...” he mumbles, his eyes closed again. There is a silence in which I wonder what to do.   
“I'm going to check on Teegee, see if any of the dogs needs a wee,” I sigh, sitting up on his bed.   
“Will you... come back?” When he opens his eyes he looks a little scared, like a little boy who thinks he won't be allowed to sleep with the light on.   
“Sure, all right... I'll be back in a minute.” I crawl out of bed and head for the dogs' room first, none of them bats an eyelid when I look in on them, they're all asleep. The guest room where I usually sleep have been turned into the birth ward. Teegee has been given a big box with loads of towels and blankets where she can give birth and tend to her puppies in peace. She raises her head a little as I enter, but she seems calm, like she is just patiently waiting. I rummage through my bag and change into my pyjamas, then fill a glass of water in the kitchen. Returning to Richard's bedroom, he has snuggled up under the covers, his suit trousers and shirt a crumpled heap on the floor. Hearing the sound of my footsteps, he opens his eyes, very much awake yet. Crawling on to the bed, I wordlessly offer him the glass. He accepts it and has a drink before putting it down on the night-stand. Burrowing my way under the duvet I come to rest next to him, but nowhere near as close as I was before. From where my head rests against the pillow I look over at him. “You all right?” I ask, my voice barely audible. I know it's a stupid question.   
“No, not really,” he whispers back, giving me the saddest smile I have ever seen. His arms are resting on top of the covers and he fidgets with his own fingers the way he usually does, rubbing his thumb into the palm of his other hand.   
“I'm still here, you know?” I reach out and place my hand on top of his arm, give it a little squeeze, then retract it hurriedly. Richard turns away from me, but only to flick off the light on his night-stand. In the darkness that follows, I can sense more than see that he inches up close to me, his head coming to rest on my shoulder. Gingerly, as if not quite sure if he's allowed, he drapes his arm across my stomach, wrapping it around me. I give him a little squeeze and then, to my own horror, I kiss his forehead again. “Try to get some sleep, yeah?”  
“Okay. Just... shove me away if I get annoying,” he mumbles, embarrassed about his own need for closeness and comfort.   
“It's okay.” I squeeze him a little. Richard falls asleep before I do, his arm getting heavier, tired from alcohol and the exhaustion of the emotional outburst he just had. 

The dogs wake me up at around 7am with gentle, but incessant barks. Half-comatose I stumble out of bed and let them out for a wee. Eager to get back into their warm beds they all came straight back inside. When I open my eyes the next time its nearly noon. I'm not surprised, I had fallen asleep some time after Richard had. Richard is sleeping on his stomach next to me, looking serene but with a serious case of bed-head. His hand rests on my arm, but he stayed close to me in his sleep the entire night. Carefully, I wriggle my arm free from his grasp, not wanting to wake him up. Getting out of bed I groan at my stiff neck, definitely a punishment from the reading marathon the previous night. My first priority is coffee, but on my way to the kitchen I decide to check in on Teegee. When I enter she doesn't even notice, she is too busy licking something that I can't see at first. Then I realise she is occupied with licking a newborn puppy, one out of four that is now nestling against her in the puppy crate. She looks up at me and I could have sworn I saw pride in her eyes, and she wags her tail slowly at the sight of me. Turning on my heels I run right back to Richards bedroom.  
“Richard! Wake up! We have babies!” I shout excitedly and bounce onto the bed on my knees.   
“What? What?!” Richards eyes spring open at the sudden loud noise, then he notices me.   
“Richard! Babies!” I repeat, still bouncing in my knees on the bed.   
“Ba... babies?” He groans.  
“Dog babies! Four of them! Come on, get up!” Finally the message seems to penetrate the thick haze of sleep muddling Richard's brain.   
“Teegee had the puppies?!” He springs out of bed and heads for the door, realises he's just in his boxers, does a u-turn and heads for his closet, snatching up the first t-shirt he can find. Deciding much more clothing isn't necessary, he does another u-turn and barges out of the room. From where I am sitting on the bed I laugh at him, then crawl out, snatch up my phone and follow after him. He stops for a second at the door to the guest bedroom, gathering himself before entering the room. His behaviour and body language is calm and gentle now, as he doesn't want to disturb the puppies or Teegee too much. We both sit down on the floor by the crate, watching the bundles as they lie in a heap of paws and heads. Teegee has expertly cleaned them all, and they all have shiny, short blonde puppy fur. Their eyes are closed, as they will be for another 10 days or so. An occasional, high pitched, tiny squeak escapes a puppy, but other than that the scene is completely tranquil. Richard gently pats Teegee's head and ears, crooning softly at her. “Hello, love. Yeah, you've been such a good girl, haven't you! You managed everything on your own, you didn't need any help at all, did you? That's my girl. You're a mum now! Pretty spooky, huh?” He continues to speak softly at her and she licks his hand, not understanding the words but understanding the tone of his voice. Gently he touches the puppies, making sure he has Teegee's blessing for doing so. He runs his fingertips slowly over the puppies and one of them yawns widely.   
“I just hope she's gotten them all out, that’s my worst nightmare, if any pups are left in there...” I fret, looking at her with concern.   
“She'd probably be more restless if there was, licking herself and moving around. She seems very peaceful – I think she's gotten them all out,” he says calmly, still caressing the puppies quietly.   
“I hope so... You have a lot more experience than me when it comes to this... I had a dog when I was a kid, and now Sprocket, but I never had to deal with birth and puppies.”   
“It's still nerve-wracking, I always worry that something might go wrong. But animals, they... I think they operate more on instinct, they're not controlled by fears and emotions the same way we are, we let our fears and worries run away with us. I'm not saying dogs have no feelings, because I'm sure they do, they're just better at listening to their instincts.”  
“You're probably right. So, how good are you at spotting if it's a boy or a girl? Can we find out?”  
“Maybe? I can try,” he says and gently he lifts a puppy up, making sure that Teegee is all right with it. It fits in the size of his palm, and he slowly rolls it over on its back to try and see what sex it is. “Okay little one, lets have a look. Please don't wee on me...” he admonishes mildly. “Girl, I think.” He lifts the puppy up to his face and nuzzles its nose, before putting her down and picking up another one. He handles them with such tenderness and care, stroking them gently, and I feel my heart melt and my uterus twitch at the mere sight of it. I can't resist the urge of picking up my phone and snapping a photo as he holds a puppy up to his face and brushes its fur against his own cheek. “So, that's three boys and a girl, but I wouldn't bet money on that, they're more.. educated guesses,” he shrugs, still holding the last of the puppies. “Here. You hold him.” Gingerly, terrified of breaking the little lump of pup that was being handed to me, I cupped him in my hands and raised him to my face, staring lovingly at the squished little face.  
“We're puppy parents!” I look at Richard over the pup sleeping in my hand.   
“We are!” He nods, showing that characteristic wide, excited grin.   
“We're awful parents, though, we were both here and still we missed them being born,” I add as an afterthought.   
“Well, technically Teegee and Sprocket are the parents. We're more... grandparents,” Richard giggles, then picks up my phone and takes a photo of me holding the pup up to my face. I'm surprised at how calm and fine Richard seems this morning, and I can't stop myself from asking.  
“So, how are you?”   
“Oh, I'm fine. Less hungover than I thought, I'm guessing that's your doing.” He pets Teegee while he talks, avoiding my gaze.   
“Fancy some breakfast soon?”  
“Yeah, I think so.”  
“Bacon and eggs kinda day? Or is that a bit much?” I add with a smirk.  
“No, I think that would be just great, actually,” he says, daring to cast a quick glance at me. “Maybe we should let Sprocket in here first? Let him say hello? The bloke has become a father after all,” Richard suggests.  
“Can we do that? Are you sure? He isn't going to... cause too much disturbance or something?”  
“Nah, we'll give it a try, see how it goes.” Richard gets up and potters out of the room. When he returns he has finally found himself a pair of jeans, and has Sprocket on a leash. At first he seems to just want to greet me, but then he catches the scent and sees the little puppies in the crate. Like any terrified, new dad he freezes in his tracks, then looks from the puppies to Teegee, then up at Richard and then me, confusion on his face.  
“Don't look at me, this is your doing,” I giggle, ruffling the dogs fur. Carefully he approaches the crate, but Teegee seems not to mind him coming closer. She even wags her tail a few times. Richard sits down again, watching the scene carefully, ready to intervene if anything should happen, but Sprocket seems to understand that he should tread lightly and greets Teegee with gentle respect. She even allows him to approach the bundle of pups cradled between her paws as well. I pick up a puppy and hold it out for him to investigate further. He gives it a sceptical sniff and a lick, then looks up at me with bafflement and confusion in his eyes. “Yeah, you made these, you daft furry sod,” I chuckle, then gingerly put the baby down again.   
“Maybe we should get out of here, leave them in peace for while,” Richard suggests. I get clumsily to my feet after having sat on the floor for too long.   
“I need coffee,” I mumble and shuffle off to the kitchen, Sprocket plods along behind and Richard brings up the rear. I quickly set about making coffee, then I start on breakfast, leaving Richard to nurse his hangover at the kitchen table in peace.  
“Ron, I hate asking you more favours, but could you possibly drive me to London later..? My car is parked there, at my flat, and I should pick it up..”  
“Of course I will,” I say simply, putting my now empty mug of coffee down on the table. My plate is empty, and I lean back against the back of the chair with a groan, feeling too full. Richard hasn't mentioned his outburst from last night with a single word yet, and I have decided not to push him on the matter. The fact that he finally got an outlet is the important thing. If he wants to talk about it at some point, I know that he will. “Can't let your baby stand all on her own in London now can we,” I add with a smile. “Teegee and the pups will be just fine on their own for the afternoon.”   
“Thanks...” Richard mumbles, poking at his leftover breakfast with a fork. 

Most of the drive to London passes by in silence. At one point I am even sure Richard is asleep, his eyes are closed and he hasn't moved in ages. Then Richard clears his throat.   
“Ron, listen...” Richard hasn't been sleeping at all, he has been trying to find the words, trying to figure out what to say. “I owe you a thank you. For... last night. For being there, for taking care of me. For... not leaving me alone. I'm not sure what I would've done if you hadn't been there to... hold me together.” I take my eyes off the road for a moment to look at him, but he isn't looking at me. He is fiddling with his hands again, nervously rubbing his thumb into the palm of his other hand.   
“It's okay, Richard.” Keeping my eyes on the road I stretch out a hand and place it over his, he takes it and lets me squeeze it for a second. “You came to me, you know. You came home. You knew I'd be there. And I'm glad you did, being alone wouldn't have been good for you last night. How are you feeling, though?” I have asked him this before today, but he knows that I mean it in a different way now.   
“I don't know, really. I feel.. Empty, sort of, drained and... tired. But eventhat feels better than.. last night.”  
“Feeling nothing is always better than feeling too much. At least for a little bit.”   
“Mm,” he mumbles non-committally. Richard stares out the window in the silence that follows, absent-mindedly scratching his chin. When he speaks again, his whole demeanour has changed. “So, I've meant to ask you, what are you doing for Christmas? Going home to Norway?”   
“What? Oh, er, no, I'm not. I'm just going to, um.. Do the usual, you know, relax and stay at home. Made myself available to take on shifts, they're always crazy busy during the holidays. How about you?”  
“We're all going to my brother's house this year I think, all of us; mum, dad, both brothers and their families..”   
“Which brother?”  
“Oh, we're going to Andrew's.”  
“So, how much are you not looking forward to Christmas this year?” I ask bluntly. I realise that Richard had wanted to change the topic, but I also know that the holidays might be something he dreads. He sags a little and sighs.  
“I don't know,” he mumbles. “It's another change to get used to, another thing that won't be like it used to be. Nothing feels like the way it used to be, I'm getting so sick of that.” He rubs his face a little frustratedly.   
“Sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad again-” I begin to apologise, but Richard waves a hand.  
“No, Ron, it's okay. Actually, I'm glad to have someone who understands me, because I can barely understand myself these days.” My hand is resting absent-mindedly on my thigh, and he reaches over and squeezes it for a moment. Entering London Richard guides me in the direction of the posh area where his flat is. His Porsche is parked outside the building, his baby seemingly unharmed, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “I hate this street parking. This area has security, but still I worry...” He mutters, getting out of the car. Richard bonds with his cars almost as much as he bonds with people, and it is obvious that he has been worrying about his car. Early December-London is a little windy and sour, and as I stand on the pavement, facing Richard, I pull my jacket closer around me. He rummages around in his pockets until his fingers connects with jangling keys. “I'm just going up to the flat to fetch my bag, then I'm driving home,” he explains.  
“Are you going to be all right on your own?” I ask, giving him a worried look.  
“Yes, I'll be fine,” he says, but not in that offhand, insincere sort of way. He even gives a little smile, taking a step closer to me. “I'm going to go home, keep an eyes on the puppies, have a long shower, try to relax..”  
“Sounds like a good plan,” I smile encouragingly. “Listen, take care of yourself, all right?” I raise a hand to his cheek, caress it gently with a thumb. I feel so much closer to him now, after what happened the night before. Because he opened up to me, and accepted my comfort and support, I feel like I have his trust. Like I know him a lot better than I had before.  
“I will,” he promises.   
“And just... call me, all right? Any time, if you need someone to talk to, if you're upset or sad or just... bored. Okay? Remember what I said last night, you're not alone, even if you might feel like it right now. I don't want you to sit there and be miserable on your own, I'm not having that. I'll come over if you need me to, I'm not that far away. If you call and I'm at work I'll call you as soon as I get a chance, yeah?” My hand is still on his cheek, and I half expect him to start laughing at me and how soppy I am being.  
“All right, I promise, I'll call.” He smiles, taking yet another step closer, his hands cup my face and his lips give my forehead a lingering, grateful kiss. “Thank you.” His arms close around my shoulders as he pulls me in for a long hug.   
“You're welcome,” I smile, patting his back, still being hugged. “And let me know if you need help babysitting the pups, they're half my responsibility too,” I add when I have been let go. He nods and takes a step towards the door.   
“Drive safe, yeah?” He admonishes, and I nod dutifully back before getting in the door.   
Safely back at home I scroll through the photos on my phone, and can't resist making a tweet with the photos of both me and Richard holding puppies. “It's a boy! And a boy! And a boy! And a girl! And a Hamster!? #puppies #proudparents”


	8. The one at Christmas

There is a knock on my door. I hardly believe my own ears, as It is the last sound I would have expected to hear today. Trying to ignore the fact that I am already a little wobbly on my feet, I shuffle to the front door. Opening it, my heart instantly plummets to the ground. On my doorstep is Richard, with a stupid Santa's hat on his head and a wide, proud grin plastered on his face.  
“Surprise!” He says loudly.  
“Richard..!” I exclaim, and despite trying to make myself smile, I feel how my expression sags. Seeing my expression, Richard changes too. I don't even want to invite him in, but I have to, so I take a step backwards and open the door wider, letting him in. “What on earth are you doing here?” I hear my own voice, the tone in it a lot sharper than I had meant it to be.  
“I came here to surprise you, but to be honest I had expected a different reaction... A surprise visit from a friend normally is a thing you get happy about,” he replies as he enters the hallway, looking very disappointed.  
“Aren't you with your family?”  
“I _was_ with my family, but now I'm here. But I get the sense that you wish I wasn't. Am I disturbing you?” He asks, an edge to his voice.  
“No, of course you're not disturbing me, because I'm all fucking alone, aren't I!” The anger in my voice is already beyond my control. I half-hope that my anger and rudeness is going to be enough for him to leave, but he isn't going without a fight.  
“Why is me being here so horrible to you?” He demands, his voice rising.  
“Because, Richard, it is 2pm on Christmas Day and I'm sitting here on my own, already well on my way to being half drunk! I'm half drunk, and lonely, and miserable, and SO fucking pathetic, and I don't want anyone to see me like that! Especially not you!” I shout at him at the top of my voice. Treacherous, hateful tears are threatening to burst from my eyes, and not wanting him to see me cry as well, I turn on my heels and stomp away from him. I run to the kitchen and come to an abrupt halt by the counter, leaning against it to keep myself upright. I shut my eyes as hard as I can, desperately wanting to stop the flow of tears. Listening for any sounds, I am fully prepared to hear the sound of my front door open and shut as Richard leaves. But after a moment of silence I hear him making his way through the hallway and living-room, entering the kitchen. I don't turn around, I can't, if I do I'll fall apart. In fact I already have, but I can't show it to him, and there is nowhere I can run to. The sound of his footsteps pauses for a moment, then they come even closer; his arms close around me and his body press against me from behind as he holds me close.  
“Ron...” He says mildly, almost pleadingly. “I'm lonely and miserable and pathetic, too. Can't we just be... miserable and pathetic and half-drunk together?” His chin rests on my shoulder, I feel the warmth of his cheek on my ear. His words remind me that Christmas isn't easy on him either, at least not this year. Unable to keep it in any longer I let out a choked sob and surrender in the fight against my tears.  
“Okay,” I sob.  
“Okay...” Richard repeats, his voice mild and calm. Spinning around in his arms I collapse into him and bury my face against his shirt. He holds me tight, running his hand over my back again and again. “It's okay, love. It's okay.”All these emotions I have been trying to desperately not to feel these past days, I finally let them out, I let them take over for a while. The sadness, the loneliness, not feeling like am connected to anybody, that I'm not important to anyone. “What did you go and run off for, eh? You lecture _me_ about not hiding away, and then you do exactly the same.”  
“Sorry,” I mumble, not really having more to say. Eventually I regain somewhat control of my emotions, and I pull away from him a little to wipe my cheek with the sleeve of my shirt. “I really need to work on my surprises,” Richard says with a small smile as he wipes my other cheek with his thumb. His stupid santa's hat is gone, and I'm grateful for it.  
“No, you don't,” I sniff. “It was a good surprise. You might need to work on your choice of friends in stead,” I say, trying to return the smile. “I hate that you just saw me cry.”  
“Don't worry about it. Unlike some women you don't go all horribly ugly or make these unearthly noises when you cry,” Richard says, pulling a face, and I can't help but laugh.  
“You're horrible. Want some wine?”  
“Oh god yes, please, lots of wine,” he says with relief. With a final sniff I open a cupboard to take out a glass, then grab the cardboard box of wine. Heading out of the kitchen, Richard follows in my footsteps. “Where's the TV?” He asks as we pass through the living-room.  
“I live in here now,” I say mysteriously, pointing the way. Richard frowns as he enters my bedroom, my nest for the past couple of days, and has a look around. My TV is on the top of my dresser, currently showing commercials on BBC. My bed is a pile of duvets and pillows, and a big breakfast tray in the middle of it serves as a table for my wine glass, my phone and a wide array of snacks. My iPad and a few books are also scattered across the bed. “It's Christmas and I'm all alone, so I can stay in bed for days and watch telly and drink wine all I want,” I say defensively. Taking the glass from Richard I place it next to mine on the tray, fill them both to the brim and set the wine box down on my night stand.  
“Did you hear me complaining?” He retorts and gets onto the bed. Resting his back comfortably against a pile of pillows stacked against the headboard, he picks up his glass from the tray. “This is brilliant!” He grins widely and has a sip of his glass, looking relaxed. I pick up my own glass and sit down.  
“I was just about to watch 'The Grinch' when you showed up. I realise it's a bit childish, but...”  
“The Grinch?” Richard frowns, thinking.  
“Yeah, um.. The green thing who stole Christmas? Jim Carrey is in it.”  
“I haven't seen that. Go for it, might be funny,” he waves, getting more comfortable. We giggle as we watch the film, drinking wine and stuffing our faces with sweets. Surprisingly we manage to keep our concentration and watch it till the end, both perfectly happy with losing ourselves in a film and not having to think about our own miserable lives for a while. As the credits roll I take a deep breath and look over at Richard.  
“Listen, I'm sorry for reacting like that when you showed up. I just... wasn't prepared for it, you caught me off guard. I am actually really glad you are here, I want you to know that.”  
“Good. I'm glad I'm here, too,” he says with a little smile. “I mean, you've done so much for me lately, been there for me. And this time I thought maybe... I could be here for you, for once. You didn't want to tell me much about your plans for Christmas, and I didn't want you to sit here all on your own, which was what I guessed you were doing. What did you do last night?” His question catches me off guard, and I answer it with complete honesty before I have a chance to think.  
“This, really,” I shrug, gesturing to the bed. Admitting to that, to having sat alone on Christmas eve, I thought _that_ would make me feel worse, more vulnerable, but it doesn't. It surprises me that I don't mind telling Richard this.  
“Why don't you go back to Norway for the holidays?” He asks.  
“Because I don't have anything to go back to,” I mumble darkly. Richard gives me a long, searching look.  
“Ron... You know, I feel like I can tell you just about anything. And you know me _so_ well by now, you've seen just about every side to me there is, good or bad. We spend a lot of time together, and I sometimes think I know you pretty well, too, but there is this big part of your life that I know absolutely nothing about. I don't mean to pry, I realise there might be a reason for that, that it might be something you don't want to talk about, and I don't want you to feel like I'm pushing you to talk about it, but..” He pauses, not quite knowing how to continue. I sigh heavily, thinking, trying to come to a decision. Maybe it is just time. He came all this way, on Christmas Day, just to see me, to be with me. He trusts me so much, and I owe him to do the same.  
“In the twelve years I've lived here in England, I've only been back to Norway twice. This is.. such a long story, it'll take some time...” I begin, not really knowing how to say any of the things I am about to. I have never really told anyone, not everything.  
“Take all the time you need, love.”  
“My mum had me when she was 21... I was the result of a one night stand, she was so high and drunk she had no idea who with. If she had any idea who my father might be, she was too ashamed to tell anyone. I think she kept partying through a lot of her pregnancy, its a miracle I survived at all. My mum was an only child, and when I was a baby my grandmother helped her out with taking care of me. Grandmum died when I was four, I barely remember her. I think I was was 8 years old when I started getting myself ready for school in the mornings, it was the only reason I was so eager to learn how to tell time. My mum was either passed out in her bed or she wasn't even home. Teachers and people at school were suspicious, I kept turning up with dirty clothes, or not enough clothes to keep me warm. I made my own lunch, when there was any food around, and I lived off chocolate bread-spread. Sometimes there wasn't any food in the house to make lunch out of anyway and I went to school without any food. I did well in school, though, I just... liked to learn things, and the encouragement I got from my teachers were the only positive thing in my life. And books, stories. Anyway, I was 12 when they finally took me away from her, put me in a foster home. She had visitation rights, times when I could see her, but she never came, never picked me up, and if I was driven over to her place most times she just wasn't home, or pretended not to be. About a year after I moved away from her, my mum met this man. She got into rehab, got cleaned up, got married and even had two kids with this bloke. I only found out when I was 18, my half-siblings were already five and three years old. For many years I was convinced that I had been the reason my mum had been drinking and taking drugs, that I had just been a burden to her, because she turned her life around when she finally got rid of me. My foster home... They took care of me as well as they could, they supported me, made me go to therapy for all of the years I lived with them. But they never became family to me, they were just.. kind people who took care of me. Maybe because I never let them in, I didn't dare. But I am eternally grateful to them for what they did. I moved to England when I was 19, had a few odd jobs here and there for a few years, worked my way through nurse school, finished when I was 25.” Pausing, I take a deep breath, needing a break to gather my thoughts, I know that I'm not finished yet. I give Richard a quick glance, he is watching me intently, looking shocked more than anything. “The first time I came back to Norway was right after I graduated from school. Someone, I think maybe from the police or the government, contacted me to notify me that my 'biological mother' had died. Her husband had done nothing to try and find me, my name had been omitted from the obituary and the funeral had already been held. I don't even know why, but I just had to go back, see her grave. I went back to my foster home, too, got to say properly thank you for everything they did for me. The second time I went back to Norway was.. to go to court. My mum had a good life insurance, and according to Norwegian law I was entitled to inherit assets after her because I was her biological child, my birth certificate said so. But my mum's new husband had lawyered up, demanding that I should not inherit as much as a penny, everything should go to him and his children.” At this point Richard seems unable to keep his mouth shut any longer.  
“Please tell me you won that bloody trial?” He asks loudly, looking affronted.  
“Yes, I did, I got my share. Afterwards I even felt guilty for it, for getting that money, because I had barely seen her since I was 12.”  
“Ron, for crying out loud! From what you have told me, she seems to have caused you nothing but misery and hurt, take it as restitution for all the shite she did to you!” He shouts even louder.  
“I know, Richard, I know, I have, I don't feel bad about it any more,” I say calmly, showing my palms for him to simmer down. He gives me another long look, there is a lot of anger in his eyes but I know that it isn't directed at me.  
“Good,” he says finally, then takes an angry swig of his wine.  
“Richard, I... I don't tell people about my past, because if I do I'll just be that girl with the tragically sad upbringing, you know? They'll just look at me with.. pity and empathy and they'll see nothing but my past and how broken I am, and I.... I can't stand that.”  
“No, no, I get that...” Richard says, his voice quiet again. When he looks at me, I see neither pity nor empathy in his eyes, but I can't really decipher what his eyes are trying to tell me. “I wish you knew how special you are. You are so far from broken, Ron..” He says, having figured out what to say. I frown at him. All I have ever heard when I have told my story is 'I'm so sorry, that’s awful'. Now I'm lost, I don't know how to respond to this. “I mean, just the fact that you are who you are is a bloody miracle. With your upbringing, you could have very easily ended up an addict, or gone bonkers, or been dead for that matter... You could have been bitter, and angry and mean, and just an awful person, but you're not, you're the exact opposite: you're intelligent, funny, wise and kind. So no, I'm not going to pity you, because why should I? Of course I think it's awful that you had to go through all that while growing up, I wish you hadn't, but the person you are today is just.. amazing.”  
“Wow... thank you,” I eventually force out the words, but I avoid his gaze and fiddle with the fabric on the duvet. “But don't say anything else, you've already seen me cry once today!” I point at him with a warning finger, then sniff when a single tear manages to escape my eye.  
“Thank you for telling me all of that, though. I can't imagine that was easy,” he says, and for a moment I feel his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.  
“It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, really.” Lifting my eyes off the bed I give him a crooked, little smile. “Because I trust you, I guess.” Putting down his wine glass, Richard returns the smile then leans over and gives me a hug, stroking my back.  
“Enough weepy talk, lets see if we can find another funny film, yeah?” Richard suggests when he lets me go.  
“Yes, please.” We refill our glasses and flick through the channels, watching a bit here and a bit there, but we don't really pay much attention as we're too busy chattering about everything and nothing. I make a few runs to the kitchen for glasses of water and fizzing tablets of multivitamins, anything that might dampen the hangover I knew we'd both be in for the next morning. “So, did you get anything good for Christmas?”  
“Mostly boring things, shirts and a few books I'll probably never read. Yours was one of the best ones, really, those biking gloves were great, thank you,” Richard smiles.  
“Glad you liked them! I was getting tired of your constant whining about having cold hands, thought it was about time you got a pair of warm and properly waterproof gloves for when we're out with the ATVs. Sorry it wasn't something more.... interesting,” I shrug. I had wanted to give him something more creative, but hadn't been able to think of anything.  
“No, no, they're something I need and will use a lot, those are the best gifts. It's better than books I won't read,” he says with a smile. While he looks at me I can almost see the thought process in his head; how he contemplates asking me if I got anything good for Christmas, but realising that might be a bad idea considering what I have told him earlier. I decide to start talking instead.  
“I meant to thank you for that album you gave me, it was really.. amazing, best gift I've been given in my life, probably! It must have taken you ages!” Richard seems relieved that I liked his present; it was a photo book with images from our trip to Africa. He had his camera with him at all times during that trip, taking pictures constantly. The book contained gorgeous images of landscapes, of meetings with the locals, the crew around the bonfire or in silly situations. It was simply a fantastic memory to have of an amazing trip. He had even taken a few good ones of me.  
“I will freely admit to having had some help; I know someone in a graphic design firm, asked for some help with it. We picked out the best photos together, he edited them and put it together. But it turned out all right, I think.”  
“It was fantastic. Thank you.” I reach out and squeeze his hand for a moment in gratitude. During the night we seem to have inched closer to each other on the bed, now we're so close that our arms are touching. “So... What did your family say when you left today?” I have to ask, the question have been burning in my mind. Him leaving his family on Christmas Day can't have gone unnoticed, I know that much.  
“Oh, they, um... Were a bit surprised, I think. My mum played the guilt card pretty quickly. My dad said nothing, typically. They all tried to get me to stay, in their own way. Andrew was the only one who sort of... understood it, I think. All he wanted to know was if I was going over to someone else or not, he didn't want me to be alone. When I assured him I wasn't going to, he let me go. I just couldn't stand being there any longer, Ron. I knew this Christmas was going to be different, but I didn't know in what ways, really. Suddenly I felt like such an outsider, them with all their family happiness and... togetherness, it was driving me crazy. I had that, too, I had a marriage, I had a wife, and it failed. Suddenly I just felt like such a... failure, like I was failing at life. I had to get out of there...” Richard's mood changes dramatically while he talks, immediately becoming sad and tense, shrinking away before me.  
“No, that's bollocks, come off it...” I sigh. Pulling him towards me, he comes to rest with his head on my shoulder. I squeeze him a little, wanting to comfort him.. “Richard... If you had stayed in a marriage that wasn't happy, would that have been a 'win'? Forcing yourself to stay in a relationship that isn't working, that doesn't sound like a win to me – in my eyes that is would have been a failure. Your marriage didn't fail, Richard, it just... changed. You didn't fail at being married, but you changed, as people, you slid apart. It just happens sometimes, and it doesn't have to be anyone’s fault.”  
“Hmm... Maybe,” Richard hums thoughtfully, not sounding very convinced.  
“You know, anyone who saw your life from the outside wouldn't say you were failing at life, though. I mean... You're not exactly hard to look at, you're more than a little well off, you're famous and a presenter on the most popular TV-show on earth, and that's not even an exaggeration. Plus, you're single and you probably have women killing each other with their high heels in their eagerness to give you the best blow job you've ever had in your life.” At this Richard guffaws loudly. “By most people's standards, Richard, you are actually winning at life.” He continues to giggle quietly, from where he rests in the nook of my arm I can feel how his body shakes a little with each giggle. When his body stills, he drapes an arm across my stomach and gives me a squeeze.  
“I couldn't stand being with my family today, the only one I wanted to be with today was you. Because, when I'm with you... You don't make me feel like I failed, like I'm a failure. Being with you is the only times I feel like me, like my old self again. Sometimes it feels like you're the only thing that is keeping me together at all.” He wraps his arm tighter around me, slips his hand underneath my back, presses closer against me. His cheek is against mine in a long, lingering hug. I don't know how to respond to what Richard has just said. Part of me is indescribably happy, he has just expressed the same sort of closeness to me that I feel to him. But another part of me can't help but wonder if he only feels this way because I came into his life after his divorce; I am completely separate from his old life, I don't remind him of that. Is that what I am to him, some sort of escape? Still not knowing what to answer, I just wrap my arms tighter around him, caress his back and enjoy the embrace. Richard moves slowly, his cheek brushes over mine until the corner of his mouth find mine. Without any sort of conscious thought, reacting on pure instinct and want, I open my mouth to him as he presses his lips against mine. I let him kiss me and I kiss him back. Pulling away from him is the last thing I want, but I know that I have to. I allow myself to give him one last kiss, savouring every instant of it, committing it to memory in minutest detail. Then I withdraw my lips and pull back a little. Richard leans in, chasing after me, but I place a hand on his chest to steady him.  
“Richard, no, don't... Not like this,” I mumble, shaking my head a little. I hate myself for saying these things. My eyes are closed because I can't bear to look at him, afraid that my urge to kiss him again will take over if I do. “Right now, we're both just miserable and.. lonely, and drunk and in need of comfort...” More than anything in this world I want to kiss him more, to feel his soft lips again and bury my fingers in his hair, but some part of me knows that all of this is happening for all the wrong reasons.  
“I'm sorry...” he mutters, sounding ashamed.  
“No, no, don't be sorry. I'm not!” I reassure him quickly, placing my hand on the side of his neck, caressing his cheek with my thumb. Seeing the apologetic look on his face I can't help but kiss him once more, a hurried but intense kiss. “ It's just that... you're my best mate, and if this is going to happen, I don't want it to happen like this, not when we're drunk and desperate and might regret it in the morning.. It might ruin everything, and I don't want to take that risk. This just isn't the right time.”  
“I know, you're right,” he says, sounding honest, then he sighs heavily. “Sorry...”  
“Don't apologise, you don't have anything to apologise for,” I reassure him once more. “Listen, I better go out with Sprocket one more time for tonight. I'll be back in ten or fifteen, okay?”  
“All right,” he says, giving me a smile that is still a little sad. I give him another kiss, but on the forehead this time, then crawl out of bed. It's cold outside, so I put on warm boots and a big jacket, a hat and gloves, Sprocket bounces around me all the time knowing he's in for a walk. I circle the block one extra time, trying to use the fresh air to clear my head. Everything inside me is screaming for me to run back inside, crawl into that warm bed and kiss him ferociously. I am certain that even though I am drunk, I won't regret kissing him by morning, but I don't know if the same goes for Richard. And if he wakes up feeling guilty and ashamed of whatever had happened, it could actually ruin our friendship. Maybe he'd never be able to move past it and then I would lose him completely. With a sigh I try to calm my mind, settle for the fact that I have made a sensible decision, despite being rather drunk. Returning back inside I get out of my winter clothes and head for the bathroom to brush my teeth. I'm already in my pyjama bottoms and a tank-top, so I'm spared having to change. I half expect to find Richard asleep when I come back to the bedroom, but he is still awake, lying on his side under the duvet, focused on his phone. His jeans and shirt are thrown over a chair, but he's kept his t-shirt on. Our empty wineglasses and candy wrappers are nowhere to be seen, and I guess he's done a quick tidying up as well. Sprocket curls up on his bed in the corner, and I crawl into bed under the duvet. Without even thinking I inch right up Richard's back and wrap an arm around him. Lately we have become so much closer to each other, not just mentally, but physically, those invisible lines that mark intimate space have become blurred, maybe even completely erased. My face feels awfully cold, and I nuzzle the back of his neck, relishing his warm skin.  
“God, you're cold!” He exclaims, but that is the only comment he makes on me being so close, he just keeps tapping away on his phone, writing texts  
“And you're warm,” I retort, my voice muffled against his skin.  
“Ron...” Richard begins warningly, but with a hint of teasing in his voice. “If I'm not allowed to kiss you, then you are not allowed to do _that_. It makes me...” He pauses, clears his throat. “Excited.” Hardly being aware of what I have been doing, I freeze: I had been brushing my mouth over the skin on the back of his neck, behind his ear, breathing softly against it.  
“Oh god, sorry,” I mutter quickly and hurriedly pull away from him, feeling embarrassed. To hide my shame and my blushing cheeks I turn my back to him, pick up my own phone and try to busy myself with it. After about a minute of silence I hear what sounds like Richard putting his phone down on the night-stand, then I feel him shift behind me, and my heart skips a beat as I feel him inch close to me and drape his arm over my side.  
“I didn't say you had to move away, did I?” He says softly. His fingertips trail down my arm, from my shoulder to my hand, then he interlaces he fingers with mine. I put the phone down, unable to concentrate on it anyway. “I like being held by you. And I like holding you," He admits as he brushes the sides of his fingers against mine. Goosebumps erupt down my arms, I'm sure he can feel it. “I'm so glad I came here and spent the day with you instead of sitting with my family being miserable.” I am able to feel his breath against the skin on my neck as he talks, and I want to just lean my head backwards a little, press my neck against his mouth, but I can't. I have made my decision.  
“So being with me wasn't miserable? Even though I told you my entire, tragic life story?”  
“I asked you about your life story, didn't I? I'm glad you told me, it's nice to feel like you trust me as much as I trust you.”  
“I do,” I mumble, squeezing his hand a little.  
“Is this okay?” His voice is barely a whisper as he caresses my fingers once more, asking permission to hold me.  
“Yeah, it is. It feels nice,” I admit, smiling to myself.  
“Hmm, it does,” he hums, his voice sounding drowsy already. Reaching out I found the switch for the bedside lamp and turned it off. For a while I lie there in the dark, not wanting to give in to sleep. I want to stay awake so I can enjoy being held by Richard, his arm wrapped tightly around me, his body pressed against the back of mine. But it is late, and I'm drunk, and Richards presence, his embrace and the steady sound of his breathing makes it impossible for me to stay awake for long.


	9. The one with all the confusion

I wake up to an empty bed, the duvet next to lying in a heap, just like he had left it when he got out of bed. My heart grows so heavy I feel like it's going to sink straight through the mattress and onto the floor. Rolling onto my back I rub my face, already fighting against tears. In my head I can vividly imagine how he had woken up, probably with a hangover, and panicked about what had happened the night before. About kissing me. Or maybe because I had stopped him. Had he regretted the kiss? Or was he upset because I had pushed him away? These worried, chaotic thoughts race through my mind until a sound from within the house catches my attention. Listening intently I hear more sounds; someone is definitely in my kitchen. Half curious, half scared, I swing my legs out of bed and shuffle through the house. Richard is standing by the stove, focusing on the breakfast he is trying to make. Sprocket is sitting primly on the floor behind him, intently watching his every move. Relief washes through me.   
“Look who's up! I wondered if you were ever going to wake up!” Richard smiles.   
“What time is it?” I croak, my voice still full of sleep.   
“Half past noon, missy!” He says cheerfully. “I thought I'd let you have a bit of a lie-in, you probably needed it.”  
“That was more than 'a bit of a lie in',” I smirk and plonk myself down on a barstool by the kitchen counter.   
“Sprocket and I are making breakfast, eggy bread. Sprocket is chief taster. He isn't being much use, really,” he jabbers on happily. “I woke up a while ago, was restless so I took him for a walk, then started on breakfast.”   
“Wow.. Thank you. You're... amazing,” I smile.   
“Oh stop. Even you deserve something nice being done for you, especially at Christmas. And it's just breakfast,” he shrugs, turning back to the stove. I want to get up from my chair, go over and hug him, hold him close, kiss him deeply. But I do not dare any of those things. Just because he kissed me last night, doesn't mean he would want to today. He was drunk, so was I, and that was the reason why I pulled away, I had told him that. But I hadn't said I didn't _want_ to be kissed by him, had I? “Earth to Ron!” A hand is waved in front of my eyes.   
“Hm? Oh, sorry, I..”  
“... you zoned out, yes I know, I know,” Richard nods, chuckling. “Breakfast is ready. In bed?” He asks, holding up a plate of golden brown French toasts smelling of cinnamon.   
“Oh god, yes,” I groan, snatching the proffered plate and taking off, giggling as I head for the bedroom.   
“Oi! Wait for me! Tea or coffee?!” He shouts after me.   
“Tea!”

“I am actually a little bit in love with this toast,” I mumble, mouth half-full of food. It was the last one, and I was already full but couldn't make myself stop eating, it was too good.   
“I made that!” Richard stuck out his chest proudly.   
“I think that makes me a little bit in love with you too.” With a pang I realise that that is probably true, and I immediately want to bury myself under the covers, at least just to hide the blush I am sure is creeping up my neck.   
“So the way to your heart is through your stomach?” He chuckles.   
“One of them,” I answer mysteriously, still trying to fight the blush. “Shrek” is on the telly, and I pretend to turn my attention to it as I munch on my last bit of toast.   
“What is it with you and green creatures? First the Grinch, now this,” Richard observes.   
“Don't mock Shrek, I love Shrek! I AM Shrek! I'm a complicated onion with many layers, a grumpy loner, barricading myself in my metaphorical swamp, shouting at people who knock on my door,” I ramble dramatically.  
“What does that make me? Donkey?” Richard raises a characteristic eyebrow.   
“Yes. But you make eggy bread instead of waffles.” We both burst out laughing.   
“Listen, my brother texted me earlier, wondering if I was coming over for Boxing day dinner. I really should go, I still feel kind of bad for leaving them yesterday...” Richard shrinks a little next to me, seeming apologetic, it is obvious that he hasn't been looking forward to telling me this. My heart sinks again, I don't want him to leave. But what did I expect, that he would stay with me for the rest of the holidays?   
“Oh yeah, of course you should go, be with your family,” I shrug, trying to hide my disappointment.  
“I don't necessarily _want_ to go, I just feel like I.. should,” he points out.  
“Yeah, I know what you mean, you feel a little obligated to. I understand. Do you think you'll be okay, being with them?” I asked, genuinely concerned.   
“Yeah, I hope so. I mean, I have to be, eventually, they're my family, I just have to get used to being with them this way, you know? Now that my life has changed.”   
“You said it yourself though, they're your family. Richard, they've known you all your life, even before you were married. Their views on you haven't necessarily changed so much? They probably just want to support you and be there for you, not judge you for having had a 'failed marriage'”. I draw quotation marks in the air around the term.  
“You're probably right...” Richard concedes, nodding slowly. “What about you, though?”  
“What about me?” I frown.   
“I don't like the thought of leaving you, of you being here all alone. Are you going to be all right?” His expression is full of genuine concern.   
“Of course I will, Richard, I'm fine. Well, maybe not fine, but I'll manage.”   
“Are you sure? You could come with me, if you want, to the dinner..” He begins.  
“Oh god, Richard, no, I can't. I mean, they don't know me, they wouldn't want a perfect stranger at their dinner table. And I'm not so sure I would want to be there either, I mean... I'm sure they're nice people, but it would just be very awkward. Don't worry about me, Richard, I feel a lot better now than I did yesterday.”   
“Yeah...?” He studies me intently from under strands of stray hair.   
“Yeah. Despite how I reacted when I opened the door, you cheered me up a lot by coming here. You've made my Christmas better than it has been for years. So don't worry, you've done a lot for me.”   
“All right,” Richard sighs, reluctantly deciding to believe me. “I have to get going soon, I have to drop by the house, get some more clothes and things, stop by and check on the dogs, too.”   
“Oooh, the dogs! How are they? Are they with Kristin? How are the puppies!?”  
“Yeah, they're at Kristin's. I feel bad for leaving them, the puppies are a handful, three weeks old. But she's assured me she loves taking care of them, and it really seems like she does.”  
“You can't let me near them, Richard. You just can't, if you do I'll just keep all of them,” I warn him.  
“I won't,” he giggles. Half an hour later I'm in the hallway, watching as Richard puts on his shoes. I'm still wearing the same PJ bottoms as had been wearing when he arrived yesterday, and I feel like a dishevelled slob. Lost in my own thoughts it takes a moment for me to realise that Richard is just staring at me.   
“What?” I frown.  
“Come here.” His voice is quiet and tender. He takes a step closer, opens his arms, and my heart skips several beats. Inwardly I'm praying frantically that this is the moment when he will finally kiss me again, I've been praying for it ever since I woke up. Willingly I walk into his arms, he hugs me tight, slowly caressing my back. I bury my face against his neck and shirt, taking in the smell of him again, clinging on to him. “Sure you'll be all right, Ron?”  
“Mm,” I mumble, too preoccupied with the embrace to give a more elaborate answer.   
“Okay... But call me if you're not, yeah?” Richard admonishes, pulling away enough to be able to look into my eyes. I nod dutifully. My heart sinks again when he takes a step back, grabs his coat off the hook on the wall and slips it on. “I'll call you later.” Another quick hug, and then he's gone. 

What I told Richard was true; his visit did indeed cheer me up a lot, and made me feel a lot less lonely. But the downside is that now that he's gone again, I feel more lonely than I ever have before. Not only that, but now I'm also immensely confused about myself, about him, about my feelings, about everything. He hadn't mentioned the kiss with a single word before he left. Why not? Maybe he didn't remember? No, he wasn't that drunk. Was he embarrassed about it, and regretted it? Or had he just misunderstood me, and thought that I didn't want him to kiss me at all, that I wasn't interested? Or, maybe he was just as confused as me, and didn't quite know what to think? He was, after all, fairly recently divorced. These thoughts kept revolving in my head, driving me absolutely mad. But most of all I just missed him, wanted to be with him, no matter how confusing it was. He calls me that night, after the family dinner, asking how I am doing. I am miserable and anxious, lonely and on the verge of tears half the time, but of course I don't tell him that. He has enough on his mind, he doesn't need more to worry about. We keep in touch on the phone for the rest of the holidays, checking in with each other, making sure the other is all right. How honest we are with our answers, I don't know. I know I'm not. Richard invites me along to Jezza's for a New Year's Eve party. Naturally I've agreed to work New Year's Eve at the hospital, and I am genuinely upset when I have to tell him that I can't come, I have to work. Not only do I need the money, but there is no chance that I will be able to swap that shift, not this close to the actual date, and not on a big night like that. A night that is usually busy, so I don't have the conscience to just not turn up either. Richard seems a little disappointed, and so am I, another chance to become drunk with him is just what I want; I've decided I won't stop him this time. 

My evening shift on New Year's turns out to be just as crazy as expected, and when I finally sink into my bed at 11pm, having come home and walked Sprocket, I'm ready to just roll over and sleep right through the racket of fireworks. 'Hamster' lights up on my phone, and I fully expect to hear loud chattering and music around him when I answer.  
“Hello?”  
“Hey, Ron. I figured your shift was probably over by now?”  
“I.. yeah, it is, got home half an hour ago.”  
“Was it as mad as you feared?”  
“Completely batshit crazy,” I grumble, then sigh heavily. “You wouldn't even believe some of the things I've seen tonight. Please tell me you're not sending up fireworks? You have a good face, don't let it be ruined by a MegaBomb 2000..!” I admonish.   
“No, no, noooo. Me and my face is staying far, far away from fireworks,” he answers hurriedly.  
“Good Hamster. It's awfully quiet around you?”  
“Yeah, I went upstairs, away from the racket. He's got a big house, Jezza. I wanted to call you before the mobile network goes down, it often crashes around midnight.”   
“Aw, that was nice of you,” I coo, feeling my cheeks blush a little. “How is the party? Any good?”   
“Yes it is, actually,” he replies, sounding a little relieved. “It's a lot better than the last time I went to a party, I can tell you that much. I'm actually having fun this time.”  
“That's good!” I say, feeling a twinge of jealousy and longing. Maybe he felt it, heard it resonate through my voice, because when he talks again his voice is a little different.  
“I wish you were here, though, it would've been even better if you were here. At least I would've had someone to kiss at midnight.” He says this last sentence with mock resignation, as if making a joke about it, but it still causes me to nearly swallow my tongue.   
“Oh, you're surrounded by people, I'm sure you'll find someone,” I say comfortingly. “I'm far worse off, I only have Sprocket!” At this I hear him chuckling on the other end.   
“Ew, don't kiss him, he has dog breath.”   
“And you don't?” My smirk is audible in my voice.  
“Oi! No I do not!” He says, suddenly sounding like the tetchy, little man you would see on telly. Then his voice changes again. “No, seriously, though. I hate that you're alone right now. And I miss you.”   
“I think it sucks, too,” I admit, trying not to let my voice reveal how sad I really am, but I know I am doing a bad job of it. “I would've loved to be there. I miss you, too.”   
“I'm sorry, I didn't call to make you sad. I just.. wanted to wish you a happy new year.”  
“It's okay, I'm not sad,” I reassure him, which is a blatant lie. “Happy new year to you too, love. And say hi to everyone I know, yeah?”  
“All right, I will. Talk to you next year, love.”

The new year comes with a bout of flu that puts a lot of my colleagues out of commission, meaning that I am suddenly very busy and can work around the clock if I want to. I make it over to Richard's a few times in early January to see the puppies, but after that I don't see him for an entire month. I'm getting more shifts than I can handle, and with him going back to work he is suddenly busy too, and our schedules always seem to overlap. Even my constant working isn't enough to take my mind off how much I miss him. Ever since we became friends we have spent more and more time together, becoming very close to each other, and suddenly I never see him any more and the abrupt change feels awful. It feels even worse because of everything that happened over Christmas, the kiss, holding each other, the things we said. It all stirred up a lot of feelings in me, feelings I hadn't really been aware of having, and it left me very confused. It felt like we had started something and then just left it hanging in the air, unresolved.

I have barely heard from Richard for the past few weeks when my phone suddenly lights up one evening, displaying his name.   
“Hey, are you home?” He asks when I pick up.   
“Yeah, I am. Why?”  
“Can I drop by? I'm in the neighbourhood of sorts.”   
“Sure. I have to be up early though, early shift,” I add apologetically.   
“I won't stay long, I just haven't seen you in forever,” he reassures me. “I'll be there in a bit.” A click, and the phone goes silent. I am aware of how my heart rate has sped up at the thought of seeing him again, what has it been, five or six weeks? I dash out to the bathroom and sigh when I see my own reflection in the mirror; my hair pulled up in an untidy bun with a clip, no make up, an almost worn-out t-shirt. Oh, what does it matter, he's seen me like this many times before. Shuffling back to the living-room I barely have time to sit down on the sofa when there is a knock on my door.   
“Wow, that was fast!” I said as I open the door. Richard's broad grin meets me, and despite myself I can't help it when an entire aviary of butterflies take off in my stomach.   
“I've been down at the track, filming a review and some other things, I was halfway here when I called, hoped you were home,” he shrugs as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Anyway, hello! I haven't seen you in ages!” Before I have time to react his arms close around me, pulling me in for a long hug.  
“Gah, you're cold!” I squeal as his cheek hits mine, but I wouldn't dream of pulling back. Instead I slip my arms inside his unzipped jacket, wrap them around him, melting into him. Far too soon he pulls back. “Want a cup of tea?”  
“Sounds good.” He follows me into the living room where he is met by Sprocket. Richard immediately gets down on his knees to greet him properly. “Hello, mate! Long time no see, eh? How are you, boy?” He scratches him vigorously behind the ears as he babbles. Sprocket waggles his tail and tries to lick Richard everywhere, happy to see him again. I leave them to it and head for the kitchen to quickly make tea for the both of us. When I return to the living-room Richard is sitting in the sofa, Sprocket curled up next to him. “Are you still working as much as you used to?” He asks, accepting the mug I'm proffering him. I sink down next to him, cradling my own mug.   
“What? No, not really. One of the nurses is out on sick leave for two months, she slipped and broke her wrist, so I've taken over her shifts. For the first time in ages I actually know when my next shift is going to be, at least for the next two months or so, which is a definite improvement.”   
“That's good. I was worried you were going to work yourself into the ground there for a while,” he admits.   
“It's a lot better, people aren't out sick constantly so we're not as undermanned any more. But still, for me this is just a temporary thing so I'm still searching for jobs.” Tired of the instability of my work situation, never knowing when the next shift was going to be, I have been frantically searching for a job since after new years, sending applications everywhere. I have been to a few interviews, in London and even in Oxford, which would put me a lot closer to Richard. I contemplate telling him about having been in Oxford for an interview, but for some reason I decide not to.   
“So, other than work, how's life? I haven't talked to you in weeks!” Richard says, turning a little in his seat to face me.   
“Oh, life is... same as its always been, really, nothing much happening,” I shrug. “What about you?”  
“Well, it's mostly been work for me too lately, first planning the new Top Gear season and now we've started filming it. Luckily I managed to get them to hold off on all the travelling until mid-march, until the puppies have moved out.”  
“Aw, the puppies! I'm so sorry I haven't been able to help you out more with them-” I begin, but Richard waves me down.   
“No, no, don't worry about it, I know you've been busy, and so have I.” To my relief there is no trace of annoyance in his voice. “Kristin has practically moved into my house to look after them. She has grown very attached to them, so much that she says she wants to buy one of them. I thought we could just give it to her in stead, if that's okay with you?” Richard raises an inquisitive eyebrow.  
“Yes, of course that's okay! She has helped out so much, she really shouldn't have to pay anything,” I agree.  
“Good. And I think we've found owners for the others as well, at least two of them,” he says with a smile.   
“Great! I still wish I could've had one, but I realise I can't when I'm alone and work the way I do,” I shrug.  
“I know. They take up a lot of your time in the beginning. I had forgotten just how much work puppies could be!” He says, rolling his eyes exasperatedly. A little silence falls as we both have a sip of our tea. “Oh, by the way, I had meant to tell you: I've started dating again!” Richard blurts out, suddenly remembering. He smiles happily, looking a little proud and excited.   
“Wh-what?” I stammer, gaping at him. Hearing these words make my insides revolve, everything winding up in the wrong place. I can barely breathe. On the outside I rally magnificently, hitching on a smile. “You kept that quiet!” I hastened to add in a jovial, teasing sort of way.   
“Yeah, I just... wanted to see how things went before I told anyone, it still feels a little weird, you know, dating again, but... It feels nice, too. I met her at Jezza's New Years eve party, I got her phone number, we started talking...” Richard explains.  
“See? I told you you'd find someone to kiss at midnight.” I hear my own voice, but can't understand how I manage to say it in such a light-hearted tone. Inside me there is absolute chaos, my heart is hammering and my guts are filled with ice-water, I'm nauseous and I can barely think straight.   
“We went out on our first date in late January or something. I've been busy with work so I haven't had time to see her as much as I'd like, really. But it feels so bloody good to be having sex again!” He adds with feeling. For a fleeting moment I am certain that I will throw up, I feel like I have been punched violently in the stomach. _'It's official'_ , I think in the privacy of my own mind. _'I have been officially friend-zoned. Forever.'_  
“It is very mean to say that to someone who is eternally sexually deprived! Rub it in, why don't you!” I am surprised at myself, at my ability to keep up this charade, this jovial, friendly tone.   
“Sorry, sorry!” Richard chuckles, showing his palms. I know that I should probably ask questions at this point, about who she is, what she is like, but I can't bring myself to do it. There is a limit to my hypocrisy, and the bottom line is that I don't want to know. I have enough mental images as it is. I should also tell him that I'm happy for him, that I'm glad he's happy, something to that effect, but I'm not going to.   
“And here you were, panicking about being alone for the rest of your life,” I finally manage to scoff, knowing it was the only thing I would be able to say with any sort of sincerity.   
“I know, I know... Ridiculous, right?” He sighs, looking a little embarrassed.  
“Obviously.” Another silence falls, and I don't attempt to break it. I don't feel like keeping up my part of the conversation, suddenly I have no idea what to even talk to him about.   
“Listen, if you have a day or two off around a weekend you should come up to my place, see the puppies before they leave. We could probably take out the ATVs soon, too!” He says excitedly.   
“Yeah, I should do that,” I lie with a smile. “I think I'm working most weekends though, I don't know, I'll check my calendar.” Richard places his now empty mug on the table, then gives me a long, hard look. I squirm under that look, worried that he is sensing the turmoil going on inside me.   
“Ron.. I'm worried you're working yourself too hard,” he says sincerely, his hand now on my knee. I want to pull away from him, shake his hand off me, but I can't. “You look... a little tired.”   
“You're right, I probably am,” I admit, straightening up and setting my own cup down, moving my leg away from his hand at the same time. “I'll be fine though, I have a schedule now, I know when my next shift is, which will give me a chance to catch up on some rest.”   
“All right. Anyway, I better get going, give you a chance to get some sleep if you have an early shift tomorrow.”   
“Yeah, okay.” On any other day I would've told him that he could stay a little longer if he wanted to, but not today. I want him to leave, mostly because I don't know for how much longer I can keep it together. As Richard heads for the door I trail after him, keeping my distance. Having put his shoes and jacket on, he straightens up a little and looks at me. For a moment I feel like he's going to say something, or at least wants to say something, but he has no idea what. It is like part of him has sensed that something isn't quite right, but he doesn't know why.  
“See you soon, yeah?” There is the tiniest trace of uncertainty in his voice.   
“Yeah,” I nod, making an effort to smile at him one more time. He makes an odd jerking movement, as if he want to move closer, maybe give me a hug but instantly thought better of it. That little twitch made my heart sink, because it made me sure he had understood everything, what was going on, why I was acting so strange. “Drive safe, yeah? And say hi to the puppies from me,” I smile, trying to add a modicum of normalcy into the conversation.  
“I will,” he says, returning my smile. “Bye, Ron.” And just like that, he's out of the door. Like a zombie I shuffle into my bedroom and sink down on the bed, finally able to focus on the chaos going on in my own head. My first feeling is one of having been used. There is no other word for it. When I started spending time with Richard he was in a bad place. He had tried to hide it, not wanting to burden me with what was troubling him, but in the end he had broken down. And I decided to be there for him. I could have chosen not to, he didn't force me to or expect me to do that, but I was anyway. And I had supported and comforted him, 'held him together' as he called it. And now that he feels better, now that I have helped fix him, he decides to just... move on, find someone else to be happy with. Somehow that feels unfair. I help him through the rough times, and someone else gets to be with him during the good times, to make him happy. I have been stupid though, I realise that know. Because while I have been there for him, supporting him, I have let myself grow too attached to him, I have gotten too close. The fact that he opened up to me, trusted me, resulted in me doing the same with him; I opened up too, told him my story, trusted him. It is as vulnerable as I have ever made myself towards another human being. And it had felt good, at the time. Now it feels awful, like he wasn't worthy of the trust I had shown him after all, now I feel uncomfortable about having let him get so close. I can't shake this feeling of having been lured into something under false pretence, like I have been fooled and betrayed. Part of me thinks that that perhaps is very unfair. Richard never made any promises to me, never committed to me in any way or voiced any feelings towards me. But he did kiss me. And we had been flirting, hadn't we? Hugged and held each other and slept in each others arms. We had kissed, and I had only put a stop to it because I was worried that we weren't thinking clearly, that we would regret it and it would ruin our friendship. But that kiss ruined our friendship anyway; it had made me aware of my true feelings for him, and led me to believe that he might have feelings for me too. Now he is dating someone else, and I don't even know how to be friends with him any more. With a pang I realise that it has been a while since I regarded Richard as _just_ a friend. For a while it has felt like it was just me and him, we seemed to be spending most of our time together outside of work, enjoying each other's company. But now there's someone else, someone he would rather spend his time with, someone who gets to be close to him both physically and mentally. An image of him kissing someone else flashes across my mind, and the jealousy stabs through me like a knife. Tears are stinging in my eyes while childish, angry, primal thoughts race through my consciousness. _'I thought he was mine. I thought he wanted me.'_ Ever since I had met Richard, I hadn't felt lonely the way I used to. I'd had someone, someone really important, someone I cared about and whom I had a real connection with. And I had felt like he cared about me in return. I had just been mistaken about how much. I know that I will lose my connection to him now, and I will be back to feeling lonely again. That thought, more than any other, is what causes me to truly break down crying. I miss him already, miss being able to think of him the way I had been able to just hours ago. I had been confused before, but it had been a good kind of confusion, an expectant one. Now I know for sure, and I wish I could go back to being confused, because then I at least had some hope.


	10. The one with the wanker

The one with the wanker

A few weeks of misery pass by. I don't hear much from Richard apart from the odd text, which doesn't surprise me, and it is just as well, really. Texts I can deal with, it is easy to lie and pretend that everything is normal on a text message. I pretend like I am dealing with it, that I am processing and adapting, but truth be told I have no idea how to deal with this. What is going on has so many sides to it, so many different reasons for upsetting me, and I keep cycling through them all. I feel rejected, like he didn't want me after all and chose someone else over me. Or maybe he never wanted me. That thought makes me feel like a fool for ever having believed that he was interested in me, like I blew that little kiss and everything else completely out of proportion. But on the other hand, maybe it wasn't so strange that I had thought he might be? The way he had acted, the things he said? Apart from that I simply miss my best friend dearly, and I feel left behind, forgotten and unimportant.   
I am surprised when Richard actually does call me, a few weeks after his surprise visit at my house.   
“Ron, I know you're busy and everything, but are you working this weekend? I need someone to watch the puppies, Kristin has gone to her sister's for the weekend and I have a date, I haven't seen her for a while because of work and she's..” I practically zone out at this point, not interested in hearing any more. Part of me wants to just hang up, or at least say no immediately, I don't want to do him any favours, especially not when it enables him to go on a bloody date. But on the other hand it is a good opportunity to spend some time with the babies before they all go off to their new homes, without having to spend much time with Richard. That is the only reason I say yes to babysit them. Richard said he'd be leaving around 4.30pm, but added that I was welcome to come by earlier because he'd be home all day anyway. Of course I turn up at exactly 4.25pm, rambling about having had a night-shift and the traffic being a bit mad. More lies. I hate lying to him, but right now it is all I can do, I can't face the thought of complete honesty. I am grateful when he does indeed leave five minutes later, in his turn rambling on about not wanting to keep the lady waiting, he's barely seen her lately blah blah. I zone out again, and disinterestedly wave him off. Richard has already walked the dogs, so in stead I focus on the puppies, playing with them, feeding them, taking them out and then going back to playing with them until they're all pooped out and fall asleep on top of each other. If playing with puppies could be bottled it should be sold as antidepressants. When the babies are all out for the count, I curl up in what is normally Richard's favoured armchair with a book. Sprocket, completely disregarding his actual size, crawls in after and somehow manages to fit on my lap. I have been completely addicted to books lately; when I'm not at work I read, and when I am out walking Sprocket I listen to audio-books, as I haven't mastered the art of walking and reading simultaneously. I know why I am doing this, I am blocking out the silence in my own head, keeping myself occupied with stories about other worlds, living the lives of fictional characters instead of having to face my own life. If I don't read, if I let the silence take over, it gives room to all the bad feelings, like loss, longing, sadness and loneliness. Those feelings are still there, occupying every nook and cranny of my heart and soul in those moments when I let my mind wander; in the shower in the mornings, in bed at night, on my way to work, in my lunch break. Eventually I fall asleep there, in that chair, in the middle of a chapter. Sprocket's sudden disappearance from my lap, along with a happy bark, wrenches me out of a deep sleep. The first thing I hear is what sounds like a female giggle, and I frown confusedly. Is the telly on? Then I hear it again, a coy and flirty giggle coming from the hallway, followed by Richard's soft chuckling. A quick glance on the clock tells me it is nearly midnight. He had promised to be home around ten. And he definitely hadn't said anything about bringing his date home. I am already nauseous at the thought of having to greet her. Why did he have to do this to me? Should I just stay here, in this chair, pretending to be asleep? Hopefully they will just let me sleep and go to bed. That way I can sneak out of here while they're... busy. The instant that thought flits through my head, I know that option is out of the question. I can't stay in this house. With a sigh I get out of the chair and head towards the hallway, knowing there is no way around it. Might as well get it over with. Sprocket is already there, happily greeting his familiar mate and this new human. She is about Richard's height, slim, athletic-looking, with long, wavy blonde hair. Of course she's absolutely stunning.   
«Ooh, there you are. Sorry, sorry I'm late, we just lost track of time!» Richard babbles the instant he spots me in the doorway. I can't help but notice his slightly dishevelled hair and how one of his shirt buttons is in the wrong buttonhole. 'Lost track of time, my arse...' I grumble inwardly, feeling another wave of nausea. His date notices me too, freezing a little in her tracks. «Jasmine, this is Ronja. Ron, meet Jasmine.» He gestures between us a little awkwardly. I approach her with an outstretched hand and shake it briefly.   
«Hello, I'm Ronja, I'm the babysitter, as it were,» I say, forcing a smile. Right now I don't even feel like calling myself his friend, right now I'm just the dogwatcher.  
«Oh come off it,» Richard says with a happy scoff. «She's more like my best mate, really.» The smile on Jasmine's face fades a little, maybe she dislikes the fact that Richard's best mate is a girl. Or maybe she is sensing the tension in me.   
«Nice to meet you, Ronja. You'll have to excuse me, I have to go to the ladies' room,» she says and disappears upstairs, obviously having been here before.  
«Really, sorry for being so late,» Richard repeats quietly the moment she is out of earshot, looking like an apologetic schoolboy waiting for a good scolding.   
«Didn't know it had gotten so late, I fell asleep in the chair,» I yawn nonchalantly, trying to hide my annoyance.  
«Listen, you can just stay here if you want to, it's really late to be driving home, and I don't want you to fall asleep at the-» he begins.   
«No,» I say, louder and more sternly than I had meant to. «Believe me, that isn't necessary. I'll be fine.» Richard opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it again, having picked up on the finality in my voice. «The pups all conked out around eight, I wore them out, they should stay asleep for a long while. Might be an idea to take them outside for a last wee, though,” I say as I put on my shoes and slip on my jacket, eager to leave before Jasmine reappears.   
«Thanks...» he mumbles, fiddling with his hands again. It seems like he is feeling bad for having been home late, and maybe even for having made me come face to face with Jasmine. And I can't help but feel some vindictive pleasure if he does.  
«All right, then.» Not knowing what else to say I decide to just leave. Just as I grab the doorknob, I feel Richard grasping my free hand, holding me back. I freeze, back to him, hand still on the doorknob, reluctant to face him again. What will my face reveal if I do? His fingers interlace with mine, just like they had done on Christmas day, intimate and tender, forcing me to turn around. Feeling his warm, soft skin forcefully brings back memories of that day, of his lips against mine, of lying in his arms. I have to swallow hard, and I completely avoid his eyes, if I look into his I'll break down crying.   
«Ron... sure you'll be all right?» His hand squeezes mine, and I can't help but wonder if there is something more to his question. Is he just worried about me being tired and driving home this late? Or is it something else, something deeper?  
«I'll be fine,» I repeat flatly, wringing my hand out of his grasp, but not entirely unkindly. Before he has a chance to say anything else I wrench open the door and march outside, heading for my car. Sprocket lumbers after me, and I let him into his crate in the back of the car.  
“Send me a text when you're home safe, yeah?” Richard says as I wrench open the door on the driver's side. He's leaning nonchalantly against the door frame, mostly a silhouette against the light from the hallway.  
“You won't have time to read it anyway.” Then I get in, and drive off.

After that I don't see him for over two months. He keeps in touch, mostly by texts, and from what he is writing he is indeed busy; travelling everywhere for shoots preparing for the new Top Gear season. And whenever he pops back home for a bit it is obvious that Jasmine is the one he prioritises. In my replies to him I try to be neutral, to not show how upset and disappointed I am. Part of me just want to push him away completely, but I don't know how to do that. Not without being honest with him and just tell him everything, and I still can't bring myself to. I still feel like it is my own damn fault for being in this emotional mess anyway, if I had just managed to keep the reigns on my feelings I would still be able to be friends with him. A few times he asks if I want to come over, but I have work, either that day or the next morning. More lies, really. I am angry with him, and I don't know if I will be able to be around him without showing it. Or if I even want to be around him. Having to meet Jasmine had made me feel very humiliated, for some reason, and that still lingers. But still I miss Richard, and I feel like I shouldn't, like he doesn't deserve me missing him. But I do, I miss spending time with him, and I wondered what I used to do on my days off and in my weekends before I met him.

My annoying ringtone jerks me out of my state of near-sleep. At first I think it is my alarm, and that it must be morning already. But I feel like I have just put my head on the pillow, it can't be morning already? Then I realise my alarm sounds different, and this must be the phone ringing. I blindly fumble for the phone and pick up without checking who it might be, I am too tired to read what the screen says anyway.  
«Muh.. hello?» I mumble.   
«Oh god, did I wake you? But it's only 8pm!» Richard's voice sends a jolt through my body, suddenly I am an hundred percent awake. I haven't heard his voice in over eight weeks now, and the sound of it causes a wave of longing to almost consume me. Why did I pick up? Why didn't I just read the name on the screen and decide not to?  
«Yeah, I um... pulled a double yesterday, evening and then night shift.. Slept just three hours this morning, am a bit knackered...” I explain, my voice thick with sleep.   
“I'm so sorry, Ron! I didn't mean to wake you!” He sounds sincerely sorry.   
“I know, don't worry, if I wanted peace that badly I wouldn't have picked up, I guess,” I said calmly, always intent on being nice. Inwardly I was wishing I had done just that; not picked up.  
“I'll keep it short, I just wanted to ask you when is your next two consecutive days off?”   
“I um.. let me think.. This weekend? No wait, I work Sunday. Friday to Saturday, then.”   
“Perfect! Do you have any plans?”  
“Er... no, no plans.” I was too tired to come up with a lie.   
“Then you are coming up to my place,” he said in such a way that I knew there was no point in even thinking of arguing.   
“.. Sure, okay,” I agree, not really seeing how I could do anything else.  
“I just... I haven't seen you in over two months, and I miss you. And I need to talk to you.” His voice was more mellow now, sad with a hint of pleading.  
“Two months? Really...?”As if that fact comes as a surprise to me and isn't something I am painfully aware of. “Well I... I miss you too,” I admit, almost reluctantly. But at least it is true; and it feels nice to be able to say something truthful to him for once. Maybe it is about time I see him, see how it will feel this time around. Perhaps it won't feel so terrible?   
“Great. Can't wait to see you. Now get some sleep. Sorry for waking you. Nite nite.” A click, and the phone goes black. I slump back on the bed with a loud groan. This will ruin my entire week.

On the way to his house I contemplate a million apologies and escape plans, sudden onset of a migraine, a car crash or a stomach flu or some disaster at the hospital. But I have to see him some time, even I know that. Despite not having been at Richard's house for months, Sprocket goes berserk the moment he recognises the driveway and realises where we are headed. Hearing my car pulling up in the driveway, Richard opens the door and releases the herd of dogs, making Sprocket even more excited, and I have to get him out of the crate as soon as possible before he actually hurts himself on it. I watch the he incredibly happy and boisterous reunion with a smile, the dogs are nearly jumping over each other in excitement. As Richard comes closer I hurriedly get down on one knee, busying myself with greeting his dogs, putting some distance between myself and him.  
“Hey, you..” Richard comes to a halt several feet away from me, gauging me a little warily.   
“Hey. Long time, no see,” I reply, scratching Captain behind the ear, making a brave attempt at smiling. Normally we would have given each other a hug at this point, but I don't feel like it now, it wouldn't feel natural. But the absence of it is definitely noticeable, making things awkward.   
“I'm glad you hadn't forgotten where I live..” He says, a crooked smile appearing on his face as he tries to make a light-hearted joke.   
“Sprocket sure hasn't, he was yowling non stop the last five minutes of the drive up here,” I retorted, wanting to shift the focus away from myself, and the fact that we hadn't seen each other for so long.   
“Maybe we should just take them for a walk right away? Let them blow off some steam?” Richard suggests. Just the fact that he asks this questions demonstrates how things have changed between us. Because walking the dogs the moment I arrived had become a habit for us, until the point where I just parked my car and we automatically started walking, dogs bounding ahead of us.   
“Sure,” I nod, getting to my feet. We meander down the path we usually take, neither of us saying a word. It doesn't take long before the awkward silence drives Richard to speak, grasping at the first subject he can think of.   
“So, you managed to catch up on some sleep then?”  
“Huh, what?” I frown, thinking for a moment before I realise he is referring to our conversation on the phone. “Oh, yeah, I did. It was just... Someone called in sick like an hour before the night shift starts, its hopeless to find anyone on such short notice so I just had to pull a double. Haven't done that in months and months, though.”  
“Good. You work too much, you always have,” he says with a paternal air.  
“Only periodically,” I retort with a little smirk.  
“Sorry for waking you, its just that adults are normally awake at 8 o'clock at night.”   
“I said don't worry about it. I picked up, didn't I?” Silence falls again, and this time I feel like its my turn to keep up the conversation. “So Teegee is back to her old self, I see?” She was running around with the others, playing and acting just like she had done before she had the pups.   
“Yeah, more or less. She was a bit mopey the first few days after the last pup had left, but she got over it with some extra cuddles. She sees one of her sons quite often, though, the one we gave to Kristin. She named him Pirate.”   
“That's good. Pirate... I like that name.” Silence falls again, and this time it lasts for a long time. Its heavy and oppressive, bursting with unspoken words and questions. When Richard speaks again, his voice is completely changed.   
“Ron, I know you're angry with me.” It's not a question, or a guess, he is simply stating an inarguable fact. I freeze in my tracks to look at him, but I can't get myself to contradict him, or to say anything at all for that matter. The way he said it, there seems to be no point. Instead, and I'm not quite sure why, I start walking again. Richard follows, but stays a few steps behind me. “And frankly you have every right to be, I can't blame you for that. I know I owe you an apology.” I keep walking, not looking at him, pretending to just be listening. But my mind is working furiously. Why does the think I am angry with him? What does he know, or think he knows? “You and I, we... were together all the time, we spent so much time together. And you have done so much for me, you were always there for me when I needed you, when I needed support or comfort or just... some company. You helped me through a very tough time, and... You know, I hate those people who forget their friends the minute they meet someone. I don't want to be that person, but I realise that I have been. After I met Jasmine I've barely seen you. We've both been busy working, but still, I could've made time to see you more, and- Ron, could you at least stand still when I'm trying to apologise to you!?” He raises his voice now, and his hand closes around my wrist, holding me back, forcing me to face him. Taking a deep breath I force myself to look at him. Warm, kind eyes meet mine, full of regret and apologies, and the instant I look at him all my annoyance and animosity towards him float out of me like air out of a balloon. “Ronja... I've acted like a right prick to you, I know that. You're my best friend. In some ways I think you're even more than that, and I don't even know what that means. But I haven't been much of a friend to you lately, I've just been selfish and too caught up in my own life. I'm sorry, Ron, I'm sorry that I haven't been around lately. I miss you, I miss being with you.” Richard's eyes flit between mine and the ground a few times and he shifts awkwardly, wringing his hands nervously. A mixture of feelings tumble through me, fighting for dominance. I'm still angry with him. But he hasn't understood all the reasons why I am, and for that I feel a sense of relief. Mostly I am surprised that he has understood anything at all, and that he is taking on so much of the blame for us not having seen each other lately, because I know I am equally to blame for that. Obviously he feels very bad about everything, and I don't doubt him for a second when he says that he misses me. A little wave of vindictiveness stabs through me, and I abruptly turn away from him and start walking again.  
“Yes, I am angry with you, you're right about that,” I announce dryly. I expect some sort of instant reply, an excuse or more apologies, but none such comes. Just silence. And I keep walking, finding that I enjoy keeping him hanging.   
“... And?” He prompts eventually, expecting me to say more. He almost sounds eager, as if he wants to get the tirade over with.   
“You've been an awful friend. I mean, really despicable.”  
“Yes, I know...” I am still walking, back turned against Richard, but I can heard the remorse in his voice.  
“I debated not coming up here today, I thought of every conceivable excuse not to, really,” I continue ruthlessly.  
“I'm really glad you came-” Richard begins, but I cut him off.  
“But you're wrong about one thing, though.”  
“Oh?” There is a glimmer of hope in his voice.  
“You haven't been a prick.”  
“... No?” Hope is suddenly mixed with incredulity.  
“You've actually been more of a... massive wanker, really.”  
“Well, yeah, I guess...” He mumbles, an edge of defensiveness in his voice now.   
“No, I mean a really gigantic asshat-” I trundle on, sizing up just how big of an asshat he has been with my hands.  
“YES ALL RIGHT!” He finally snaps, shouting loudly at the back of my head. Once again I freeze in my track, so suddenly that Richard almost bumps into me. Spinning around on my heels I shoot him a murderous stare. “What?” He challenges defensively.   
“I don't know! I can't think of what else to say! But I still want to shout at you!” I roar at him.   
“All right, fine, shouting is fine, I can deal with shouting, you've earned it,” Richard rants, showing his palms. Breathing heavily I clench up my fists, a million thoughts are racing in my head but I can't chose which one to scream at him first.  
“You made me feel really used, do you know that? I was good enough to be your friend when you were a miserable tosspot, but as soon as you felt okay you just fucked off!” At this Richard just nodded shamefully, averting his yes. “I hate that, I hate being the one who is only good enough to listen to the misery of others! I refuse to be that person!” More meek nodding from Richard. “And I missed you too, you know, even though you hardly deserve it. You say you missed me, but at least you had someone. I only have you, which is so bloody pathetic. Why do you always make me feel so fucking pathetic?!”  
“You're not--” Richard begins, but I've had it, I can't take it any more. Tears burst from my eyes the moment I turn away from him, and my instinct is, as ever, to hide it. I begin walking away from him, hoping he'll let me go, or at least stay behind me. But I am not the only one who has had enough. “Will you stop running away from me every time you start crying!” He commands loudly. For the second time his hand closes around my wrist, harder than before, pulling me around to face him once again. I shut my eyes tight, hang my head, anything to hide away from him, hating myself for crying over him, for him, in front of him. I feel arms closing around my shoulder, pulling me close until his body is against mine, providing comfort and warmth. Dropping the last of my defences I bury my face against his sweater, taking in the scent of him for the first time in months and months. “Ron, I cry, you cry, we all cry, it's normal. Crying isn't pathetic. And you're not pathetic. If anyone is pathetic here it's me, because I've been such an idiot to my best friend.” His voice is calm and soothing.   
“Wanker,” I mumble against his shoulder.  
“Yes, yes, wanker, all right, I've been a wanker.” he repeats resignedly, and I can't help but smirk to myself. “I really am sorry, Ron.”  
“Good,” I mumble, my crying already abating. My hands have been hanging limply by my side, but now I lift them up to snake them around his waist. “How long have you known I've been angry with you?”   
“I don't know. A while. You're not as good at hiding your feelings as you think you are.”   
“So you've just been avoiding me because you know I've been angry with you?” At this question I feel how he freezes up and how he stops breathing for a second, realising that this just has made everything worse. I raise my head off his shoulder and meet a pair of terrified, pleading eyes. I smile weakly at him, and he relaxes a little.   
“You're enjoying this too much,” he grumbles, pretending to be offended.  
“A little,” I nod.   
“Come on, lets start heading back. I'll make us dinner and we'll get plastered,” he suggests flippantly, turning and heading down the direction where we came, calling the dogs to follow.  
“Throwing a sainsbury's pie in the oven does not constitute as 'cooking',” I say, following him.  
“Crap.”  
“I'm still angry with you.”   
“I know.”


	11. The one where they make up

The walk back to the house passes mostly in silence. My head is spinning from the emotional chaos going on inside me, and Richard seems to want to leave me with my thoughts. A little part of me just want to forgive him then and there. Mostly because I want to go back to hugging him, I've missed him so much, missed being close to him. After having had a lengthy discussion with myself back and forth, I conclude that I have basically forgiven him for the things he actually has apologised for. But the fact that he started dating someone, and the jealousy that brought with it, that still stings. And I need time to work on that. Returning to Richard's house we feed the dogs before trailing into the kitchen, where Richard pours two glasses of wine and hands me one. While he starts pulling out pots and pans, knives and various food items, I sit down on a barstool by the kitchen counter and slowly sip my wine. It seems like spaghetti with meat-sauce, salad and garlic bread is on the menu. It takes a long while before he dares to point out my evident lack of helpfulness.  
“You're not going to help me one bit, are you.” It is more of a statement than a question, really, he already knows the answer. I look up at him with an uncomprehending air. He answers by holding out a bell pepper and a knife.   
“Are you sure you want to give me a knife right now?” I raise an inquisitive eyebrow at him. He looks down at the knife, up at me again, then hurriedly retracts the knife, shaking his head a little to himself.   
“No, no, no, you just... enjoy your wine, it's fine, I don't need help,” he reassures me. “In fact, I don't want help! You just sit right there! Want more wine?” He babbles, pouring more into my glass, looking skittish and nervous. I hide my amused grin by taking another sip. Keeping him on edge is turning out to be fun. The rest of the dinner preparations passes with minimum conversation while Richard discreetly plies with me wine. It's not until we've nearly finished eating that he dares say something.  
“Was it good?” He asks, gesturing to the food.   
“Your offering of food does not displease me,” I answer coolly, still keeping up my act of cold, passive-aggressive anger, an act I know that he's seeing right through anyway.  
“Oh boy,” he sighs. “You're not making this easy on me, Ron...” He seems genuinely worried now, and that takes me by surprise.  
“What..?”  
“I should tell you something, Ron, and... I have no idea how you'll react to it, so I decided to wait until... Well, until there wouldn't be any sharp knives or heavy pans in the immediate vicinity.”  
“I have a fork?” I point out, lifting it from the plate questioningly, but then I immediately regret it. “I'm sorry, this sounds really serious, I'm joking. What is it?”  
“It's just that... I want you to know that Jasmine and I, we're..” At this point he hesitates for only a fraction of a second, but it gives me more than enough time to go into panic mode. Oh god what now? Are they moving in together? Having a child? Getting married? The nausea threatens to overwhelm me again. “We're not seeing each other any more...” Before I even had time to react to this, Richard launches into explanations. “And I'm worried that you'll just get even angrier with me now, because maybe you'll think that I've only invited you here and apologised to you because I'm not seeing her any more, because I have time for you now, or... something. Or that I only want to spend time with you now that I've gotten single and miserable again and need your support. And none of that is true, that isn't how it is! I would have sought you out and apologised to you no matter what. Even if I hadn't stopped seeing her, that wouldn't have changed anything, I still meant everything I said earlier. I have really missed you, and missed being with you, and-” Richard babbles on nervously.   
“Whoa whoa, Richard, sh-sh-sh, that's enough, stop!” I raise my hands and he shuts up instantly. Now that he has stopped ranting and I have his attention, I don't really know what to say. My first instinct is to just be happy and relieved he's single again. But now that he is, that doesn't mean I should get my hopes up. Maybe he'll never see me as more than just a friend? Realising that I am still holding up the fork, I hurriedly put it down.  
“Richard, relax. I'm not going to skewer you with cutlery. But... to be honest with you, if you hadn't said the things you just did, I probably would have suspected some of those things to be true, frankly. But now I don't. I guess I trust you,” I shrugged.  
“I... Thank you, Ron,” Richard says quietly. In the silence that follows I feel like I should say something.  
“I'm... I'm sorry you broke up,” I mumbled.   
“No, you don't have to be. I'm fine with it, really.” Richard waves me down, sounding sincere. “Besides, I didn't get you here so that I could talk about how I feel about breaking up with her.”  
“No, I know that,” I nod. “But still.”   
“Thanks.” After that I help Richard tidy up after dinner, suddenly feeling bad for having been a little hard on him. Even though I really haven't been. But something has shifted between us now, the air is cleared and we find it easier to be ourselves again. By the time the kitchen is cleared and we sit down in the living room with a fresh wine glass each, we are both giggling and it is starting to feel like old times.  
“Richard?”  
“Mm?”   
“Can I ask why you stopped seeing each other? I mean, you seemed pretty happy with things...” The question had been nagging on my mind, and I couldn't stop myself from asking.   
“Ron, we really don't have to talk about this,” he begins.  
“No, I know. And you don't have to if you don't want to. I was just.. curious, I guess. I'm sorry,” I say with a shrug. He studies me for a while, thinking.   
“It just.. wasn't working. I liked spending time with her, but I didn't have any proper.. feelings for her, I guess. It had just gone on long enough, it was just time to end it before it got.. serious. Because I realised I wasn't interested in it becoming serious, really. Is this making any sense?”   
“So.. She was the rebound,” I summarize. Richard frowns, as if I have accused him of something horrible, but then he gives it a second thought and slowly starts nodding.  
“As awful as that sounds, you're probably absolutely right...” He admits. “You know what is even worse? I don't even really know why I dated her. I mean, she was attractive and everything, but beyond that I'm not really sure. It just felt like... people were expecting me to start dating again, get back on the horse sort of thing. And then she was just... there, and interested.”  
“We do a lot of stupid things because of what other people might think,” I say sagely. “Maybe you couldn't have done it any other way, maybe dating someone you didn't have any serious feelings about was the only way to get back into it? Dating someone you had actual feelings for.. Perhaps that would've just been too scary?” I muse, having a moment of rare insight.   
“That might be a very good point, actually,” Richard mumbles, staring into his wineglass. The mood have become serious again, and I don't want them too, not now that things had just become light and fun again.  
“Okay, just so you know; if I ever agree to watch the dogs again while you go on a date, you better not come home several hours late because you can't resist the urge to stop on the way home to have a lengthy shag in the car.” At this Richard laughs loudly, screwing up his eyes. and I can't help but laugh with him. Even though I know I shouldn't, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.   
“Oh god, was it that obvious?” He flinches, looking like he was bracing for a smack in the face.  
“Richard, not _one_ of your shirt-buttons was in the right buttonhole. Not one! And your hair looked like a wig put on back-to-front! It doesn't take Sherlock to figure that one out.” Richard screws up his eyes and throws his head back, guffawing with laughter.  
“All right, all right, it won't happen again, I promise, cross my heart,” Richard swore, placing his hand over his heart, still giggling.  
“Which car did you use? Just for reference, because I am never sitting in that particular car ever again.”   
“Um... The Porsche,” he says after a moment of reminiscing.   
“Damn, it had to be the Porsche, didn't it. I love that car!” More laughs from Richard. I love this, I love being able to make him smile and giggle like a little boy. “Also, I didn't really like her,” I added flippantly, which sends Richards into another fit of childish chuckles.   
“No, of course you didn't!”   
“She was too pretty! That doesn't work for me. You can't have girlfriends who are prettier than me. I just made that a new rule,” I nod.   
“Okay, I promise I'll bring the next one to you for approval before I actually date her.”

The rest of the evening is filled with lots of laughter and easy-flowing conversations, and it is past midnight when we decide to call it a night. Going to bed in the guest room I feel happier and lighter than I have in month; it had felt like the old times I had missed so desperately. Crawling into the big, comfy bed I leave the light on and pick up my iPad, playing a game on it. I need some time to wind down before I go to sleep; it feels like I still have to process everything that has happened today. I get so caught up in my game I forget about time until I hear Richard's footsteps shuffling by my door, which is half-open so I can hear the dogs in the morning if they needed a wee. He shuffles past, probably heading for the kitchen for a drink. After a while I hear his footsteps returning, and then stopping by my door.   
“Can't sleep?” Busy with my game, I only throw a quick glance at him leaning against the door frame. He is wearing a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms, but no shirt, and his hair is a little tousled. Right then he is the sexiest man I have ever seen. Worried I am going to blush furiously, my eyes snap back to the screen.  
“No, this is how I sleep, actually, with my eyes open, tapping away at an iPad,” I answer sarcastically. He ignores my snide remark.  
“Can I come in?” His question is a little timid, and it surprises me. I throw him another quick glance, immediately realising that I won't be able to say no for all the money in the world.  
“Yeah, sure.” I have my eyes glued to the iPad as he shuffles across the floor. The feel of the mattress changes a little as he lies down behind me. A long silence passes, and I don't dare put down the iPad, or even turn around. I have no idea what I might say or do if I did. “So, why aren't you sleeping? Miss your girlfriend?” I ask, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.  
“What? Oh, no, no, I don't actually. Weeeell, I miss the-” He begins, but I'm quick to cut him off.   
“Ah-ah-ah! Don't even go there or I will make you sleep in the dog room.” Richard quickly shuts up, then giggles.   
“Okay, all right. Sorry. And why aren't you sleeping?”  
“Because I'm hooked on this damn game,” I mumble, which is at least partly true.   
“What are you even playing?” I feel the mattress moving again as he inches closer to look over my shoulder. I can feel his body, his chest against my back, and I swallow hard, my heart speeding up.  
“Its this puzzle game, it's called Flux. You have to find objects hidden in these scenes, and use the objects to solve puzzles.” My breath hitches in my throat as I feel his chin against the side of my neck as he looks at the screen curiously from over my shoulder. After staring at it for a while he wraps his arm around me to point at an object on the screen that I have been looking for.  
“There.”   
“Thanks.” We stay like that for a good while, Richard getting caught up in the game too. Whenever he isn't pointing at the screen, his arm is draped around me, just holding me, and I am torn between loving it and hating it. This is too easy, just going back to this, isn't it? Aren't I supposed to be mad at him? Why did I even let him into this room? “Oh god, I can't start another chapter of this,” I say eventually, turning off the game and putting down the iPad. Richard hurriedly retracts his arm and he retreats to a more sober distance. I turn over on the bed to face him. He's lying under the duvet, looking back at me as if he's expecting to be thrown out of the bed at any moment. I try to remind myself that I am angry with him, that he kissed me, then started dating someone else, how disappointed and jealous and sad I'd been. But now that he's here, lying next to me, looking at me with his beautiful brown eyes, I'm not able to hang on to that anger. “You never answered me why you can't sleep,” I pointed out.   
“I was worried you were going to kill me in my sleep.”  
“So keep your friends close, but your enemies closer?”  
“Something like that,” he says, giving me a shy smile that makes my heart flutter. Without another word I reach behind me and turn off the bedside lamp. In the darkness I quickly move closer to him and nudge him over on his back. Before he understands what is going in, I inch right up to him, coming to rest in the nook of his arm with my head on his bare shoulder. He doesn't really put up much of a fight. “If you insist on taking up space in my bed, you can at least be useful,” I order.  
“Your bed? I think you'll find that this is technically MY bed! It's in my house!” He argues. Even so his arm closes around me, and he runs his hand down my arm and side.  
“This is the guest bed, and I am a guest in this house, so as long as I occupy it, it is my bed. And as long as you insist on being in it, I might as well use you as a pillow. Because at least you're good at that. Being a pillow. Even if you're a rotten friend.” On the outside I am acting confident, but on the inside my heart is hammering wildly against my ribcage. His bare skin is against my cheek and neck, warm and soft, feeling almost electric against my own. Richard just chuckles softly, his hand still caressing me.  
“All right, fine,” he says mildly. “I'll be your pillow.” My arm is draped across his stomach, and I can't resist the urge to run my palm over his bare chest, needing to feel it under my fingertips. But I only dare do it a few times, then I let it come to rest across his stomach again. “Just don't drool on me.”   
“If you won't snore,” I tease back. He chuckles softly, and his hand resumes caressing my bare arm, slowly and gently. I draw a deep sigh, feeling very relaxed and content. After a long while, when he thinks I am asleep, he buries his face in my hair for a moment.

I am gently roused from my heavy sleep by something brushing lightly against the side of my face. The sensation isn't annoying, just slow and delicate, feather-light, and not something I instinctively want to pull away from. When my brain catches up with my senses, I realise that it is soft lips I am feeling, and I lose my breath for a moment. A warm mouth is placing tiny little kisses along my jawline. On the inside, sleep-addled shock and excitement causes a prickly, glowing heat to spread throughout me, centering itself somewhere behind my navel. On the outside, all I do is stir a little and sigh. He freezes when he senses my movement, but relaxes again when I don't pull away from him, but rather move towards him. I draw a slow, deep breath, taking in the smell of him. Sleep still lingers heavily in my limbs and mind, but my heart quickens with every millimetre his mouth moves closer to mine. He moves slowly, barely brushing his lips and his nose over my skin, gently trying to wake me up without startling me. The weight of his hand is resting on my stomach, unmoving for now. Again I move, my mouth gravitating towards his as if by a magnetic force. He closes the final little gap between us, and I can feel how ragged and nervous his breath is when he first places his lips against mine, barely touching. His kiss is timid and slow, as if he isn't quite sure I am awake yet, or if he's even allowed to do this. I return it sleepily at first, almost in slow motion, as if I'm kissing him on instinct rather than conscious will, still in the process of waking up. I kiss him again, blindly and drowsily searching for the softness of his lips, and this time he kisses me more boldly, giving a low, soft hum of relief as he does so. My hand, which had been resting on the duvet, comes to life and I place it against his warm, bare chest. This caress is the first sign I have given that I am truly aware of what is going on, and that I want to take part in it. His skin is so soft and warm beneath my fingers. Slowly and lovingly I slide my palm over his bare chest and stomach, over his side and around to his back, tracing up his spine, kissing him all the while. In response he presses his body against mine and deepens his kisses, and I willingly open my mouth to him. A quiet, little wince escapes me. My other arm is trapped between us, and I wriggle it free and slip it underneath him to caress his lower back with featherlight fingertips, fulfilling an intense need to touch more of his skin. Richard's hand has been on my stomach, gently stroking me, and my heart skips a few beats when I feel him slipping it underneath my shirt, eager to touch skin in stead of fabric. A trace of clamminess in his palms reveals that he is a little nervous, but his hand doesn't hesitate nor shake as he caresses my stomach and my side with a delicate touch. Even though it is practically impossible to get any closer to him, I want to, and squirm a little against him. He lets me slide my leg in between his, our bodies becoming even more entangled. Richard places a few kisses along my jaw before lowering his head to place his mouth against my neck. In gratitude I tangle my hand into his thick hair, which has become a little long of late, and let out a happy sigh. Eager for more kisses I invitingly tilt my head back. My neck has always been a sensitive place, and his breath and his lips against it causes my heart to speed up and a heat of anticipation to spread throughout my body. Before I even register what I'm doing, I slip my palm down the length of his back and over his bum, squeezing it through his pyjama bottoms, drawing his body closer towards mine while pushing my hips against him at the same time. This seems to spur Richard on, as if this was the final green light he needed. With his lips still against my neck he pushes me down flat on my back, his hands quickly gathering up the hem of my oversized t-shirt, pulling it upwards. In a moment of panic I remember that I have no bra underneath, but quickly realise I am far beyond caring. I arch my back, writhe under him to help him remove my shirt. We have to break our contact so he can pull it over my head and off me, and for the first time since this began we can look at each other. We can barely see in the almost-darkness of the bedroom, but I can see that he is staring intently into my eyes, a little smile on his face, and I realise that I am smiling back up at him. With my hand is on his chest I can feel how he is breathing a little heavy, just like I am. Supporting himself on his arms, he leans down to gives me a surprisingly tender, lingering kiss which I return with the utmost sincerity. I watch with a mix of anticipation and excitement as he inches down on the bed, not stopping until his head is level with my hips. My entire body erupts with goosebumps when his lips make contact with the skin just above the hem of my knickers, kissing it. He buries his face against my stomach, kissing his way across it, running his tongue over my skin. His palms are at my sides, rubbing my skin slowly. I run my hands through his hair, over his neck and shoulders, touching any part of him I can reach. Little hums and sighs of pleasure escapes me in response to the caresses from his mouth and his hands. As he inches his way upwards, I wrap my legs around him, desperate to feel closer to him. His mouth has come level with my breasts, but teasingly he kisses a trail between them and over the top of them. I squirm a little underneath him, huffing with frustration now, and I can feel him smirk against the skin between my breasts at my impatience. Deciding to put me out of my misery, he drags his teeth lightly over the skin of my breast until his lips make contact with a nipple that is already rock-hard. As his mouth closes around it I can't help but let out a wince of delight, my hand clutching the back of his neck in a firm grip. A nimble tongue swirls around it, then his lips clamps around it and he sucks it, causing me to buck underneath him. Letting it go, his mouth continues its journey upwards, placing kisses over my chest and shoulder, then dragging his teeth lightly over my collarbone, causing another wave of goosebumps to wash over me. Having parted my legs to give him room, he comes to rest on top of me. His chest against mine, the weight and warmth of him against me feels amazing. Several layers of fabric still separate us, but I can feel the warmth of his cock, how hard he is. I can finally kiss him again, and I brush my lips lightly over his earlobe, breathing into his ear. Burying my face against the side of his neck I kiss his skin deeply, dragging my teeth lightly over it, then kiss it again. Richard tilts his head sideways, offering up his neck to me, wanting more. My palms trail down the length of his back again, and when they reach his pyjama bottoms they slip underneath the fabric, continuing to trail over the skin on his bum. Having wrapped my legs around his hips, I take his arse in a firm grip, kneading it, drawing his body closer to mine again, grinding up against him. The friction, my hands on his arse, my lips on his skin draws the first moan of pleasure from Richard, and it only makes me want to coax more sounds out of him. Blindly and desperately my mouth finds his and I kiss him sensually, running my tongue slowly over his bottom lip. At the same time I push my hips up against his once more, causing him to groan again. He grinds his hips down against me, we're both desperate for some friction, for any sort of relief. I tug aimlessly at the lining of his pyjama bottoms, wanting them off, but getting nowhere. Richard tries to help, but without any success. We giggle against each others lips at our own desperate clumsiness, and without really breaking our connection we end up on our sides, which makes it easier for him to kick off his pyjamas. The instant they're gone his hands shoot to my knickers, practically tearing them off me. His arm wraps around me and he draws my body close to his again, completely naked together for the first time. The contact feels electric, the sensation makes me wince and causes a shiver to run through me. Richard's mouth is at my neck again, kissing me hungrily, his hand travels over my breast then trails down my stomach and over my bum. I can feel his erection against my hip, hard and warm, and my hand is unconsciously drawn to it. His breath hitches in his throat as he feels my fingertips brush up and down the length of his cock, before I close my palm gently around it. Slowly I rub my thumb over his wet head and he huffs against my skin and pushes his hips against my hand. Both of us are breathing raggedly, our chests heaving, completely lost in the desire for each other. My insides are on fire, I want him so much I don't know what to do, all I know is that I can't wait any longer, it's too much. Letting go of his cock I lay down on my back, digging my fingers into his hips, pulling him after me.   
“Come here, please...” I beg breathlessly into his ear. He follows willingly, coming to rest between my legs, his cock now pressed up against my wetness, and that sensation alone is enough to make me lose my breath. Leaning on one arm his face hovers over mine. Sensually he runs a thumb along my bottom lip, before he takes it between his own lips, sucking on it. I grind my hips up against his, our bodies slip easily against each other and the friction makes Richard groan against my mouth. 'Oh god...' Just the feel of his cock against me, rubbing against my clit could've been enough to make me come, but I need more, we both do. Still kissing me hungrily, he guides himself inside me, and for a moment I lose all ability to return his kisses, all I can do is moan and try to catch my breath. The initial, almost painful delight of suddenly having him inside me is completely overwhelming. I entangle one hand into his hair, and dig the fingertips of the other into his shoulderblade, I am clinging onto him for dear life, grinding up against him. Richard huffs and groans in my ear, but then, in an instant, his voice changes – all of a sudden it sounds like it is coming from somewhere far away. My body is shaking, or maybe it is being shaken? Suddenly, like a bubble bursting, I'm awake.  
“Ron, Ron! Wake up!” It's dark, I'm in a bed, and I'm breathing heavily. Throwing my eyes open I can see Richard in the almost-darkness of the bedroom, he is leaning on his elbow and shaking me gently with his free hand.   
“Uh.. huh-what?” I croak, swallowing hard. He stops shaking me, but his hand remains on my shoulder. For a moment he says nothing, just gives me time to let me catch my breath and make sense of my surroundings. In my mind I relive the last moment of what I just dreamt, and realise that it was just that; a dream. A very vivid, realistic... wonderful.. dream.  
“Nightmare?” His voice is full of kindness and concern as he runs his hand soothingly over my hair.   
“Yeah, uh dream... Bad.. dream...” I mumble and nod, thankful that it is too dark for him to see how violently I am blushing. Even though it was just a dream, I can feel the exact same desire and want in me now, as I had in the dream, still coursing through me. My heart is beating a hundred miles a minute and that isn't from fear, but pure lust. I can even feel how my knickers are completely soaked, and a wild throbbing between my legs. The fact that Richard is indeed lying next to me in a bed, dressed in a pair of pyjama bottoms and nothing else, makes everything a million times worse.   
“Are you all right?” His voice is mild. I just nod a few more times, not really knowing what state I am in at the moment. “I know you probably shouldn't wake people when they're dreaming, but... Or is that sleepwalking?” He muses. I probably should be grateful that he woke me up now, before I began moaning his name and telling him to fuck me harder in my sleep. But part of me hates him for interrupting what I was in the middle of, even if it only was in a dream. My breath is still ragged and heavy, and I'm still in a state of shock. Richard lies back down, his head on the pillow, but he is still looking at me. He obviously thinks I'm very distressed about my awful nightmare. “Hey, come here, you,” he says mildly, reaching out an arm for me to lie on. Within the next moment I find myself lying with my head on his shoulder again, his arm wrapped around me, and he is caressing my arm soothingly. Just the feel of his warm skin against my face is enough to make my blood start rushing again. Five minutes ago I had been kissing that same skin on his neck, sucking on it, making out with him, been naked with the man who I am now being held by, and it is actually nothing short of pure torture. Parts of me just wants to throw myself over him, kiss him, just to see what happened. But I know I wouldn't dare. For a while he says nothing, just keeps stroking my arms comfortingly. “Think you'll be able to sleep again?”  
“I.. Yeah, I think so. Thanks, Richard. I'm sorry if I wake you up with.. whatever I was doing,” I mumbled, half apologetic, half embarrassed.   
“No, no, don't worry about it. Try go to back to sleep,” he suggested kindly, running his and over my hair a few more times. Richard falls asleep long before I do.


	12. The one with the date and the divorce papers.

I wake up with a start the next morning, and for a moment I am confused about last night, whether it was a dream or not. A quick look down confirms that my top is still on, and then it all comes back to me; Richard shaking me awake, obviously under the impression that I am having a bad nightmare. But for now, Richard is lying close behind me, his arm around my waist. Damn, why does he have to be so close, clinging on to me? His breath against the back of my neck brings back vivid memories of last night, of his lips against my neck, his mouth on mine, and even though I know it was just a dream, it felt so realistic that it makes my heart rate speed up. I squirm a little, trying to get a little further away from him and his tantalising breath, but he responds by closing his arm tighter around me. As he moves behind me I feel what is unmistakably an erection pressing up against my backside. I know he's asleep, that he isn't even aware of it, but even so its the final straw; I can't stay in this bed any longer. As gently as I can I wrangle myself out of his grip and stumble into the bathroom, grabbing my bag on the way. I need a shower – a cold one. But when I find myself naked in the shower a little later I can't help but relieving my pent up tension in a very private way. But it doesn't help much, and I still feel restless as I get dressed and exit the bathroom. Richard is fast asleep, and I decide to take the dogs out for a walk, desperately needing to distract myself. Returning half an hour later I realise that the walk has done nothing to calm the madness going on inside my head. Normally I can't remember half of what I have dreamt, and the more I try to remember what had actually been going on, the more blurry and intangible they get. But not so this time; I can remember all of it, every detail, and it is driving me bonkers. Taking the dogs into their room I give them breakfast, having learned the routine of this ritual by now. Closing the half-door behind me I fill the kettle with water and flick it on. Lost in thought, Richard's voice behind me causes me to jump high in the air.   
“Good morning!”  
“Gaah! .. Oh. Err.. Hi. I mean, good morning,” I ramble, heart beating wildly in my chest. He is still in his pyjama bottoms, his hair standing every which way, but he has at least put on a t-shirt. Not that it really helps much, as it is tight and with a v-neck.  
“God, I'm sorry,” he says mildly, entering the kitchen. “I thought you heard me coming.”  
“What?” I blink rapidly, feeling the blush creeping up my neck. My brain is suddenly so sex-oriented that even an innocent sentence like that is turned into some sort of innuendo. “Oh, right, no, I didn't hear. I guess I...”  
“... zoned out, yeah, I know,” Richard nodded, rolling his eyes, having gotten used to me going offline every now and again.   
“I took the dogs out, we were out for half an hour. Then I gave them breakfast.” Looking at him across the kitchen floor my eyes roam over him, taking in his sexy bed-head, his gorgeous eyes, the details of his neck and what is visible of his collarbone and chest. My eyes trail over the shape of his torso, but when they land on his hips I realise the blush is back and I quickly turn away from him, making myself busy. “Want some tea?”  
“Yes, please. And thanks for taking care of the dogs.” I freeze up when I feel his arms close around me from behind, he hugs me briefly and gives me a peck on the cheek. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to calm myself, but my hand holding the sugar spoon is shaking. Part of me wants to push him away, the other half wants to spin around and attack his face with mine. Before I can decide on either, he moves away and shuffles over to the fridge.   
“Oh, no problem. I was awake, so... I didn't go near the creek though, they'd all get so mucky.”   
“But getting mucky is half the fun!” Richard protested. “You should've woken me up, I would've come along and gotten dirty with you,” he grinned cheekily, busying himself with making toast. For the third time in two minutes my face flushes hot again, and inwardly I explode in a tirade of expletives.  
“I didn't have the heart to wake you...” I mumbled. Sitting down by the kitchen table with my tea and my breakfast, my mind begins to wander again. Richard has to talk to me several times before I register his voice, and when I finally do I twitch in my chair, violently being pulled back into the real world.   
“Ron... Are you all right?” Eyes filled with genuine concern look at me across the kitchen table.   
“All right? Why shouldn't I be?” I say with a little smile, stirring in my tea with a spoon.   
“Is it that dream from last night?”  
“Dream..?” Is all I manage to say.  
“Yeah, I mean.. You seem all tense and.. skittish. Was it really that bad?”  
“No, no, it really wasn't that.. bad...” I say with a sigh, squirming in my chair, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. It hadn't been bad. It had been good. Really, really... good. “I'll be fine. I don't know what's up with me today, maybe it is the dream, I don't know, I don't even really remember what it was about. I'll be fine,” I persist. All I want is to get away from under Richard's intense stare, as if I am worried he'll be able to look straight into my head and see what is really going on. In the space of a microsecond I make the decision. “Listen, while I was out with the dogs, the hospital called me, they wondered if I could come in this afternoon. I... I said yes, they seemed to really be in a pinch.”  
“Oh, all right...” Richard said, looking a little crestfallen. “Means you would have to get going soon,” he added, throwng the clock on the wall a quick glance.   
“Yeah, I know.. I'm sorry. I was hoping we could go out on the ATVs today, but... Rain-check?” I raise my eyebrows hopefully at him across the table, and he smiles a little.   
“Rain-check. Definitely,” he smiles back. It wasn't a lie, I had really wanted to go out on the ATVs today. The hospital calling, taking on an extra shift, that was a lie. But the way things were right now, after that dream, I just couldn't be around him, I couldn't keep my mind off it, I couldn't even think straight. I needed to get some distance, both time-wise and physically. Maybe the after-effects of the dream would wear off eventually. “Oh by the way, I forgot to tell you, I'm meeting Mindy next week,” Richard says after a long silence. “We're signing the final divorce papers.” His voice is flat and matter-of-factly.   
“That sounds as much fun as getting flicked in the bollocks. Repeatedly,” I observe with a frown.   
“Yeah, I'd rather eat Jezza's nipple hairs, to be honest.” We look at each other over the table, then we both pull disgusted faces before breaking out in a chuckle, despite the seriousness of the topic. “On second thought, maybe not...”   
“Why didn't you say anything last night?” I ask, finding it strange that he didn't mention this during the hours we talked together the night before.   
“I... I was trying to get you not to hate me, it didn't feel like the time to start moaning to you about my divorce. Again,” he added with feeling, rolling his eyes theatrically. He gives a shrug, not quite knowing how to explain it better. His shoulders sag a little, and his eyes flit restlessly around the room, the worry in him suddenly very visible.  
“What are you dreading more? Seeing her or signing the actual papers?” There is a pause in which he gives this some thought.  
“I don't know, really. Both, probably,” he sighs, picking moodily at the edge of his plate. “It's just so incredibly... final, you know? It really is the end of it, no going back. But on the other hand, that's also the good bit about it. This is the last thing we have to get through for this thing to be over, no more legal stuff, no more arguments and agreement and papers, just.. done.”  
“So no seconds thought about the divorce, then?” I know I probably shouldn't ask this question, but I can't stop myself.  
“Oh god, yes, of course I have second thoughts, I have them all the time. But then I remember that we can't fix this, we tried that, it didn't work. Whatever second thoughts I have, it's just... me being scared. And not wanting to be alone.” Richard's face grows sad and full of regret and longing as he talks. I reach across the table and place my hand over his. I don't know what to say, I can't think of anything that will make this any easier on him. In the end all I do is squeeze his hand and give him a comforting look. In return he gives a small smile and his expression softens, having understood what I have tried to convey with just a touch and a look. Twenty minutes later I'm by the door, having packed my things and roused Sprocket from a post-meal nap. I feel bad now, the anxiety and sadness I had seen in Richard earlier made me not want to leave him, if I stayed I could at least distract him a little. But I have told the lie now, I can't take it back. Richard watches from the doorway as I get Sprocket into his cage and throw my bag into the back-seat. From where he's leaning against the door-frame watching me, he looks lonely and a little lost. Having shut the back-door I make my way back to him. Coming to a halt on his front step I open my eyes to say something, but I am not quite sure what, and then Richard beats me to it.   
“We're all right, right? You and I?” He asks, raising his eyes from the floor with an effort. He looks at me as if I am the last person left in his life.   
“Yeah, we're all right,” I nod, giving him a small smile. Looking grateful he wraps his arms around me, drawing me in me in. “You're still a wanker. But we're all right.” Chuckling, he hugs me briefly, thanking me, then lets me go, pulling away from me.   
“Now, go on, get a move on. Or you'll be late.” 

 

Later that week, Richard suddenly calls me out of the blue.   
“Hamster. Good evening,” I mumble dryly, trying to sound a little like James May.  
“Hi, Ron. You busy?” He doesn't joke back, or chuckle. By the sound of his voice he doesn't even crack a smile, which makes me suspicious.  
“I'm buried under a pile of dog, trying to read, so no, not really. What's up?”   
“I'm just out driving. Can I come by your place? You don't have like... work early tomorrow or something?”  
“No, no, no work,” I answer, a little perplexed.  
“So it's okay?”   
“Yes, of course it is, you're always welcome, you know that,” I answer back, trying to sound a little reassuring.   
“But hang on, I'm a wanker,” he protested.  
“Well, yes, but you're my wanker, so that makes it ok.”  
“All right, see you soon. Half an hour or so.”   
“Okay. Front door isn't locked, just... come in, I'm stuck under a dog.”  
“Sure. Buh-bye.” A click, and he's gone. Putting down the phone I look at it with a frown, wondering what that was all about. He was very vague as to where he had been, where he was or why he suddenly wanted to pay me a surprise visit. Maybe he'd just been somewhere for work, down at Dunsfold for example, and he had decided to come by on a whim. Everyone could have a whim every now and then. Later, when my front door opens, Sprocket bounds out of bed with a warning bark, alerting me of this unexpected intruder. The moment he spots his mate by the door his I can see his tail starting to wag, then he disappears from view as he sets off to greet him. I smile to myself as I hear Richard greet the dog with his usual, excited crooning.   
“Ron? Hello?” He briefly comes into view as he passes the bedroom doorway, heading for the living-room and then the kitchen in his search for me.   
“In here!”  
“Where- oh, there you are.” Entering my bedroom he looks at me with a frown. “Do you live in your bedroom? You're always in here!” He argues loudly, sounding exactly like when he's arguing with Jezza and May on the telly. He's wearing grey jeans, a white shirt and an aubergine knit cardigan I've never seen on him before. Those tight, v-neck t-shirts of his were going to be the end of me some day.  
“My bed is more comfortable than my couch. So yes, most of the time, I do,” I sniff airily. Richard looks a little lost, looking from the empty space on the bed and then to me. “Well go on, have a seat. Or have a lie-down, you know, which ever you prefer,” I shrug. After a few seconds thought he throws himself on the empty side of the bed, just like a bored kid would do, landing on his stomach. He grabs a pillow and wraps his arms around it, tucking it under his chest and resting his head and neck against it. Sprocket quickly follows suit, bounding onto the bed, but instead of going back to his usual spot over the top of my legs, he lies down next to Richard, hoping he won't be as preoccupied with a book as I have been so far. “Oh. If you want tea you bloody well have to make it yourself.” Richard laughs loudly, showing off his perfect teeth.   
“No, no, I'm fine. I've had too much coffee today anyway, one more cup of some caffeinated liquid and I'll be the energizer bunny,” he chuckles, absent-mindedly burying his fingers into Sprocket's fur.   
“Face it, you practically are already,” I mumble disinterestedly, glancing at him over the top of my book. Continuing to read would be rather rude now that he was here, so I mark my page and put it down. “Well, more of an energizer-hamster. Where have you been, work?”  
“Yeah, doing silly challenges again. You will never be able to guess what I have genuinely done at work today, not in a million years.”  
“Then you better tell me, or this will be a very long evening. Not to mention millennia.”   
“I have played musical chairs with Jeremy and May.”  
“O..kay?”  
“No, this is the best bit; it was in an old Vauxhall Nova. While driving down the straight on the track.” I burst out laughing, trying to imagine this.   
“But Jezza is like two miles tall! How is that even possible?”  
“He is surprisingly flexible, despite his constant complaining over his bad hip.”  
“But... I can't imagine that could have worked without quite a bit of physical contact – how did you talk James into that? Did you heavily sedate him?” Richard launches into stories about all the insane things they have done on their shoot today, resulting in both of us giggling constantly.   
“Anyway, it's been a long day, and I thought I'd come by and see you, even if you're angry with me,” he sighs, and looks up at me with his brown doe-eyes. As Sprocket looks up at me as well, I burst out laughing.  
“God, you two looked at me the exactly same way right now,” I laugh.   
“Sprocket has beautiful eyes, I'm choosing to take that as a compliment,” he sniffs. His arm is draped over the dog, and I find myself actually being jealous of Sprocket. In the silence that follows, Richard's eyes go out of focus as he loses himself in his own thoughts. He has had a long day, I can tell just by looking at him, but I also remember the phone call, and how odd Richard had sounded, I know that he isn't here to just talk about how his day was. He'd been talking for half an hour now, but only about funny stories from work.  
“How did that whole divorce-paper signing .. thing go?” I ask bluntly, knowing it had happened a few days ago.   
“Oh, it went all right, I guess...” he mumbled vaguely, shrugging his shoulders. “No actually, that's a lie, it didn't really go well at all.”   
“Uh-oh... Should I even ask what happened?” I raise an eyebrow at him. He fiddles with Sprocket's collar, throwing me a quick, guilty glance.   
“We.. had sex.” He speaks so quietly I am sure I haven't heard him right.   
“What?”  
“We had sex!! I slept with her, all right, we.. slept together!” His confession starts loud and angry, but then his voice trails off and the sentence ends in a shameful mumble. After a moment of absolute silence, I am unable to hold my questions back.   
“Are you serious??” I say, feeling frustrated. “Hammond, You were signing your divorce papers! And you ended up having sex? How can you- I mean, how do you go from that, from signing your divorce papers to actually sleeping together? Considering the situation, that shouldn't happen, that shouldn't be possible!” I gesture wildly in the air as I talk, and Richard flinches.   
“I know, I know...” he sighs as he closes his eyes for a moment, rubbing his temples.   
“Well?” I persist, raising a demanding eyebrow.  
“Well, she... Came by the house with the papers, we both signed them, I felt a little sad and she looked sad, so I just wanted to hug her, and I kissed her forehead, then she kissed me, and..”  
“Okay, okay, enough, all right,” I wave, not wanting to hear any more, thoroughly regretting my question, but I regret having opened this subject even more. Richard shuts up instantly. Another silence descends while I mull things over. Most of all I want to repeatedly hit him hard over the head with my very thick book. “So now what? You're not getting divorced after all, then? You're making another go of it?” A part of me has already resigned to this fact.   
“What?” At this Richard's head snaps up and he looks at me with a puzzled frown. “Of course we're still getting divorced, I mean, we are divorced, we signed the papers, it's done.”  
“Yeah, but you could've just torn them up.”   
“Well, yes, we could have, but I mean... Just because that happened, that doesn't mean... anything, really. We can't fix this, we tried, over and over, but we can't, so it's done, it's over,” he says determinedly.   
“...When you end up sleeping with her, that doesn't sound like a marriage being over to me,” I point out.   
“No, Ron, really,” Richard says, holding up a palm. “Believe me, it's over.” He sighs and his head flops back down on the pillow, he looks upset and sad. I don't know what to say, or if I should ask any questions at all, so I keep quiet. “After we split up, whenever we were together, I always... felt something, or at least I've thought I did. And whenever it happened, when we ended up in a bed together, it always made me sad and confused, I wondered if we were doing the wrong thing, because if I still felt something then maybe leaving each other wasn't right. But this time, kissing her, holding her... I didn't really feel much of... anything. I mean, she'll always mean something to me, we were married for a long time, but those romantic feelings, you know, wanting to be with her, wanting her to be mine, they're... gone. And whatever feelings I thought I had earlier, I'm not sure they were even real, I think I was just... missing what we used to be, really, what she and I had together. And thinking that I still had feelings for her made me sad, but realising that I don't any longer, that makes me sad too. And I know that doesn't make sense. I'm not making any sense at all, am I?” Looking up at me he looks utterly lost.   
“No, you are, Richard,” I nod reassuringly, unable to resist the urge to run my hand through his hair and the side of his head. “You're rambling a little, perhaps, but it makes sense. As much sense as feelings ever make, really, and that normally isn't much sense at all.”  
“I hate feelings,” he mutters, pouting like a child. I smirk at him, shaking my head a little.  
“If you didn't feel anything, why did you even go through with it?” The instant I ask this question I bite my lip, regretting it. If I don't want to know anything about this, then why the hell do I keep on asking questions.  
“I don't know... Didn't want to be rude,” he says, trying to make a joke of it. When he sees no smile from me he turns serious again. “Maybe I was hoping I would feel something. Maybe it was just... a last goodbye, I don't know, really.”  
“Go out with a bang, was that it?” I ask dryly.  
“I hate you, why do I even talk to you?” Richard complains.   
“Beats me,” I shrug carelessly. “So it's really over, then? You're officially divorced?”   
“Yep.” He nods once, then draws a deep breath. “And even though it makes me sad, I'm also a little relieved. It feels like we've been in this process for decades, I'm just glad it's over. Maybe I'll actually be able to... move on.”   
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, my voice full of empathy. Without really thinking I begin running my hand consolingly over the side of his head, through his hair, wanting to comfort him. Richard closes his eyes at my touch, needing the comfort and to feel like he isn't alone. Privately I wonder if he ever will be able to move on. And to what? Maybe he'll see me, now? Maybe he'll see me as something other than that one mate he can talk to about his feelings? After a long silence Richard seems to snap out of his thoughts.   
“Listen, I'm sorry, I've been jabbering constantly at you ever since I got here, and mostly about myself. How are you? What's going on in your life?”   
“Oh, I'm fine, nothing much is going on, really...” I mumble vaguely. Having retracted my hand from Richard's hair, I now fiddle with both hands in my lap. “Well, I've been on a date, actually.” I make the decision to tell him in the blink of an eye. If Richard feels like he can tell me about every intimate little detail of what goes on in his life, why shouldn't I tell him about mine? Not that I am particularly proud of having gone on that date. I know that it was an act of desperation, an attempt to find anything that might distract me from Richard, from my dream about him. I had needed something new in my life, because lately I've been walking around in circles, getting nowhere.   
“A date? Really? You kept that quiet!” His face lights up at these news, and a teasing grin spreads on his lips. He stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to fill him in on the details.   
“It's this paramedic bloke, every time he comes in with a patient he's made a point of talking to me. I've been sort of ignoring him for a while, but... I don't know, I wasn't sure if I really liked him, but I realised I'd only talked to him at work, and maybe he'd be a completely different person outside of the ER. So I asked him out for dinner.”   
“You did?” Richard raised both his eyebrows.   
“Yes! The ambulance guys, they're only in our ER for like five minutes a couple of times a day, you have a very limited window, you know!”  
“All right, all right, makes sense,” he nods. “Did you sleep with him?” Richard grins mischievously. “Richard!” I exclaim in affronted tones, slapping his upper arm, and he giggles. But I don't respond to his question.   
“So how was it?” He asks.  
“What, the sex?” I reply without thinking.   
“A-ha!” He points at me with a victorious and accusatory finger, and I screw up my face in a grimace, blushing furiously.   
“Well, you know, it was... Okay,” I shrug, sounding less than enthusiastic.   
“...Ouch! Poor bloke,” Richard flinches. “Are you going to see him again?”  
“Oh, I... um.. I don't know, probably not. I mean, he's nice and thoughtful and everything, but there just wasn't any... chemistry. And he doesn't make me laugh. So, no.” Part of me had been really disappointed to find out that the paramedic had been just as normal and boring as I had initially assumed. I had hoped to discover that he had a whole other side to him that I had never seen before, something that made him interesting.  
“Rubbish in bed and doesn't make you laugh... You're right, don't see him again,” Richard summarizes, shaking his head. Spotting the unhappy look on my face he turns more serious. “I'm sorry it didn't work out.” He places his hand on mine, running his thumb over the back of my hand, returning my comforting from before.   
“Thanks,” I mutter, and give him a wonky smile. “I remember why I never go on dates now. They make me feel miserable.”  
“I had sex, and I feel miserable. You got sex, and you feel miserable,” Richard muses.   
“We must be getting really, really horrible sex,” I suggest, and we both start giggling.   
“Maybe we should just start shagging each other?” Richard suggests flippantly, causing me to nearly swallow my own tongue. He has a cheeky eyebrow raised, and that mischievously grin on his face, all he wants is to make me laugh, to cheer me up, and I can't help but oblige. Far too vivid images of my dream flash across my memory and I am sure I am blushing again. Looking down at Richard he is resting his chin against the pillow again, one hand absent-mindedly scratching Sprocket behind the ear.   
“Are the dogs at Kristin's?” I ask, remembering his pack at home.  
“Yeah... I knew today would be a really long day, it was just better,” he mumbles into the pillow. His eyes close slowly as he starts to relax more. “Do the hair-thing. It felt nice.” He extracts his hand from Sprocket's fur to gesture to his own hair, then resumes petting the dog. His voice is slow and sleepy. I give a snort of derision.  
“You're becoming very demanding!” I laugh. But even so, I begin running my fingers through his hair again, caressing him slowly. “You're scratching Sprocket, I'm scratching you, now who is going to scratch me..?”  
“Sprocket, scratch her,” he mumbles, gently poking the dog once in the ribs. Sprocket gives an annoyed grunt, but doesn't move as much as a paw. I know Richard is nearly asleep already, and I don't have the heart to rouse him just to throw him out and make him drive home. Still running my fingers through his hair I pick up my book with my free hand, and sink a few inches lower onto the bed. It is only half past ten and too early to go to bed, so I resume reading. Eventually, when I am certain he's asleep and my arm is getting tired, I stop caressing him, but leave my fingers tangled into his hair. He sleeps heavily, lying completely still with Sprocket tucked under his arm, and I feel very guilty when I know I have to disturb them both. I place my hand on the top of his, squeezing it gently.   
“Hamster... Richard... I have to take Sprocket out now, or he'll just wake me at 4am needing a wee,” I explain, trying to rouse both him and the dog. Both of them stir reluctantly, in the end I have to practically grab Sprocket by the collar and drag him out of Richard's arms, and then out of bed. Richard sighs and yawns, then opens his eyes, but only barely.  
“What time is it?” He croaks.   
“Nearly midnight.”  
“Oh god. I better start on the way home...”  
“No, Richard, you'll just fall asleep and crash and die horribly. Wanker or not, I don't want that. Was Kristin supposed to have the dogs until tomorrow?”  
“Yeah,” he groans, rubbing his face.   
“Then stay here, go to sleep again. You're knackered. Be right back.” Returning ten minutes later, Richard's clothes are in a heap on a chair, and he's under the duvet, seemingly already back to sleep. With a yawn I shuffle off to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get into an oversized t-shirt I often sleep in. When I come back to the bedroom, Sprocket has crawled back into bed and inched right up to his new favourite sleeping buddy. Under normal circumstances I would've chased the dog out of my bed and into his own, but for once I let him stay. Where he is lying in the middle of the bed, he will be between Richard and me, maybe act like some sort of barrier, making it impossible for us to come too close to each other. I flick off the bedside lamp and crawl into bed. Coming to rest against the pillow I sigh deeply, quietly wondering how on earth that man has wound up in the same bed as me once again. I had let him fall asleep, and told him to stay when he'd talked about going home, because I was genuinely worried he was too tired to drive. I'm too nice to him, I know that. I just.. let him do whatever he wants, and the majority of the time he has no idea what he's doing to me. He isn't mean to me, he never has been. A little inconsiderate at times, perhaps, but mostly that is just because he is incredibly caught up in the mess and stress of his own life. But he's also a good mate, he cares about me and my life, listens to me, comforts me and makes me laugh. I sigh heavily once again and change position, predicting that I won't be able to sleep for hours. In the dark I hear some movement, then Richard's hand connects with my lower arm in his blind search for me. From there he finds my hand and takes it in his, interlacing our fingers. I can't even tell if he's awake or not, his hand had felt heavy and sleepy. My heart beats hard in my chest, and I have to focus to keep my breathing calm. I should move, retract my hand, turn away. But I know that I can't.


	13. The one with the paramedics

I am awakened by a palm gently brushing over my lower arm, and a hoarse but mild voice calling my name.  
"Ron... Ronja...?" Cracking an eye open I squint against the harsh morning light in my bedroom. As my eyes adjust to the light, Richard's face swims into view, a lot closer than I would have expected it to be. "It's 9.30. Maybe we should get up soon?" With a start I realise that I am lying basically in the nook of his arm, my head on his shoulder, my body draped along his side, my leg over his. Looking around I see that Sprocket and I have traded places during the night, he is now curled up on my side of the bed, his head on my pillow.  
"Um... how did I..?" I croak, gesturing vaguely to myself and then to Richard.  
"You inched over sometime during the night. I think Sprocket got too warm and laid on the floor for a while, and suddenly you were there," he explains. I half expect him to tease me for being clingy or needy, for needing to be close to him, but he doesn't.  
"Oh... yeah, maybe it's time to get up," I croak, sitting up in bed and rubbing my face tiredly. Instantly I miss the warmth and comfort of his body, and I hate myself for sitting up, for getting out of bed. All I want to do is crawl back under the blanket and back into that position, and sleep. Scooting out of bed I pull on a pair of pyjama bottoms, wondering if Richard is studying my bare legs while I do. Turning around to look at him, I am disappointed to discover that he's busy scratching my dog. "Did you sleep all right?"  
"Hm? Oh, yeah. Well, Sprocket kicked me in the ribs a few times. But then you came along, so.. yeah, good," he mumbles, not really looking at me.  
"... Good," I echo. "I'll... go make some coffee." On my way to the kitchen I bury my face in my hands, sighing frustratedly. What the hell are we doing? What is this, what is going on? Are we just friends, or something that is just entirely undefinable and confusing? Does even Richard know what we are? Or does he just take everything in his stride, like he always seems to do, without really analysing it or giving it much thought? I move around the kitchen completely on autopilot, filling the coffee maker with water and coffee before flicking it on. A knock on the front door jerks me out of my preoccupied thoughts, and I frown at the sound of it. Who could it be? It was way too early for the postman, and apart from him or Richard people hardly ever knocked on my door. I must have looked like something out of a movie comedy when I open the door to find the paramedic, Kevin, standing on my doorstep.  
"Hi. I didn't wake you, did I?" Was his first question, as he spotted my pyjamas and tousled look.  
"What, no, no, I was just... making coffee. Um.. hi. What are you doing here?" This rather inhospitable question falls out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop myself.  
"Well, I went by the hospital first, to check if you were working or not. They said you had the day off, so I thought maybe I could take you out for break..fast..." Kevin's face suddenly changes, he is obviously looking at something behind me, and I before I even turn around I just know he's spotted Richard. Right enough, Richard has chosen this moment to emerge from my bedroom. Thankfully he has both his jeans and his shirt on, but he's barefoot and has an inarguable case of bed-head. Looking back to Kevin, his face has gone from surprise and shock to a mixture of disappointment, anger and offense. There is a moment of intensely awful, awkward silence.  
"I, um... OK, then, nevermind," he says, anger definitely present in his voice. Then he turns on his heels and walks off. My first instinct is to call after him, to stop him, explain that he has misunderstood everything, to make him understand, but I can't make myself do it. Not now, not with Richard still being here. Besides, how can I make him understand, when I don't even understand it myself? With a heavy sigh I close the front door, then I start banging my forehead against it, groaning loudly.  
"I really need to work on my timing, don't I..." Richard voice is small and apologetic. I can hear his footsteps approach me from behind. "I'm guessing that was the paramedic?"  
"Yes," I groan, still banging my head against the hard, painted wood of the door.  
"I guess I really ruined your chances with him, didn't I? I'm sorry." I feel Richard's hand on my shoulder, squeezing it for a moment.  
"Yes," I groan again through gritted teeth.  
"Stop that, or you'll cause a bruise. And a headachce," Richard says, quickly placing a palm between the door and my forehead before I can hit it again. I glare at him before quickly turning on me heels, stomping away from him.  
"I can't believe this," I snarl.  
"What? That he showed up unannounced? Or that I happened to be here?" He asks innocently as he follows me into the kitchen.  
"Both," I growl, aggressively pouring two cups of coffee.  
"As far as unlucky coincidences goes, this was a pretty bad one," he concedes, snatching up one cup before I have the chance to throw it in his face.   
"And the thing is, this isn't even how it looks!" I shout, and now Richard realises that I am properly angry. "You came out of my bedroom, with your hair on backwards and no socks! And me still in my pyjamas! We're not sleeping together, but that sure as hell is what it looks like to him!" I point to the street, as if to underline who I am talking about.  
"Ron, what are you so angry about? You said you weren't going to see him again anyway," Richard   
says calmly.  
«Maybe not, but this wasn't how I wanted him to find out! It would have been nice to at least have the opportunity to see him again, without you getting in the way!»  
«Ron, I get that you didn't want to hurt the bloke, and I'm sorry that this happened, but none of us could have predicted this!” He is trying to keep calm, trying to stay sensible, but I can tell it's getting harder for him.  
“Could you imagine how he feels right now? And what he might think of me?!” I hiss.  
«Would you calm down? It's not like he caught us in a bed together!» Richard says defensively, throwing his arms out.  
«But you were in my bed, that's the point!» My voice has gone a little shrill now, the anger has built up momentum and I am quickly losing control.  
«What's that supposed to mean?» He frowns.  
«I mean that we're not even shaggin each other, and still you're ruining my life!»  
«So, what, do you want to shag me?» He shouts back, equally frustrated.   
«Bloody hell, no! God knows what would happen then, the world might implode!»   
“What do you mean, ruining your life? I said last night I was going home, but you told me to stay!”  
“Because you were sad and really tired and I give in as usual and let you do whatever the hell you want!” I am pacing back and forth in my little kitchen, pent up frustration making it impossible for me to stand still. He has retreated a few steps to what he assumes is a safe distance, and has put down his cup of coffee.  
“Whatever I want?” Richard frowns again, struggling to understand what I am really saying. “You make it sound like I'm nothing but bloody mean to you! What the hell is this about, are you still angry with me about how I acted when I was with Jasmine?”  
“Yes, I guess I am! I don't know!” I shout back, feeling like I'm losing the momentum I had a moment ago.  
“You're going to have to elaborate a bit more, because I have no idea what you're saying!” Richard demands.  
“I mean that I never know where I am with you, where I stand! Because there's no in between with you! Either you're just... gone, working or dating someone or shagging your ex wife, or... or you're here, in my bed!”  
“Okay, so which bit are you angry at me for? Being away, or being in your bed?”  
“I don't know! Both, I guess! I just- sometimes I wonder what the hell I am to you? I'm sure as hell not a mate to you, because this, you and me, this isn't like any other mate I've ever had. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just this.. comforter that you can turn to when life's a bit rough, someone who'll listen to you and comfort you, if I'm some security blanket you've realised you can sleep close to at night without ever getting any feelings involved or give anything back!”  
“Ron, that is so fucking unfair.» I've pushed Richard too far now, he's had enough. Taking a step closer he points at me with an angry, accusatory finger. «You're making it sound like I've never done anything for you, like I'm taking advantage of you and am never there for you, and you bloody well know that's not true. And I have never forced you to be there for me, in fact I told you specifically that you didn't have to! I am going to leave now, and go home, give you some time to figure out what your problem is. Maybe you'll be able to find out what exactly it is you're so bloody angry with me about!» He turns on his heels and marches out of the kitchen. I hear him make a detour for bedroom to pick up the rest of his clothes, then marches into the hallway. A few minutes later and the door slams shut behind him. In the silence that follows, all I can hear is his car roaring to life out in the street, and then the click-clack of Sprocket's claws against the floor as he shuffles into the kitchen. He looks up at me then cocks his head, as if to ask "what the hell was all that about?" My eyes land on Richard's untouched cup of coffee, and I make a loud groan of frustration. He had a point, what was I really so angry about? Picking up my own cup of coffee I sit down on the sofa, still seething. I wasn't really angry about Kevin showing up, or that Richard happened to be here at the time. It was just an unfortunate coincidence. I hadn't told Kevin that my best mate happened to be Richard Hammond, and I definitely hadn't told him that we used to have these platonic sleep-overs constantly. I guessed that no matter what I told him now, he wouldn't believe me, that I'm not in a relationship with Richard or that I have at the very least been shagging him. In reality I am angry at myself, for doing this to myself, for always letting Richard into my bed, letting him get so close to me, even though I never get as close as I really want to. And I am angry at myself for not having the guts to be completely honest with him. Now that I had been on a roll I should have just confessed that I had feelings for him, and that whatever was going on between us is doing a right number on me. But in stead I just shouted half-truths and unfair accusations at him. It's true, I don't know where I stand with him. He seems to always be searching for some closeness to me, physical as well as emotional, he had even kissed me once. But never mentioned it with a single word after that. Whenever he crawls into the same bed as me, and inches up as close as he can, I always wonder if it is just because he needs comfort and warmth and to feel cared for, or because he genuinely wants to be close to me. Richard has been there for me too, it isn't just a oneway street, he is right about that too. He'd been there for me even though I had screamed in his face and stomped off like an offended toddler on a temper tantrum. He listens to me, comforts me when I need it, and shows that he cares about me by worrying about me working too much. Of course he's my mate, I hadn't meant that. He's my best mate. But sometimes he also feels like... having a "friend with benefits". But without all the benefits. And I want those benefits. Countless times after that kiss I have been on the verge of bringing it up, asking what he thought about it, anything just to open that subject of our feelings for each other. But I always chicken out, because I am terrified of him immediately launching into apologies before exclaiming 'thank god you stopped me!' In stead of being faced with rejection, I stay in the land of the unknown, hoping that something might happen one day. But the way I have just acted, the things I have just screamed at Richard, is proof that I am not handling the situation well. I need to apologise to him, I knew that before he was even out the door. I also need to be honest with him. Some day.

"Ron, we have an ambulance coming, three minutes out, get ready." A coworker of mine, Theresa, called Tess for short, pops her head into the medicine room. At first I think she might be warning me because an ambulance might mean Kevin is arriving, and I have told her about my rather boring date, but when I see the look on her face I know it's not that.  
"Serious?" I ask, dropping what I have in my hands and following her.  
«Car accident. Head trauma."  
«This week just gets better and better....» I mutter. Both Tess and I busy ourselves with checking that all the gear and equipment in the trauma room is ready. The ER has been quiet lately, it has been a while since I have encountered any major trauma or accidents, and my pulse has already gone up. I hate the waiting game, not knowing, wondering that will get dumped in my lap. How bad will it be? The wondering is always the worst. From afar I could hear the sirens blaring. An anesthesiologist, a few doctors, Theresa and I rush towards the doors, ready to receive the ambulance. I hang back a little, letting the doctor and the more experienced Tess help the paramedics getting the patient out of the back of the rig.  
"Male, age 44, car accident. BP 90/55, pulse 115, sats 90%. GCS 14." The paramedic quickly rambles off the patients status and vital parameters.   
«Any more coming?» The doctor asks.   
«No, just him.»  
«But the other car?» The doc persists.  
«There wasn't any. The wheels just locked up at 40 miles per hour, apparently, he hit his face on the steering wheel.»   
«Ouch,» the anaesthesiologist flinches. I can't see much apart from the gurney, a neck collar and a tangled mess of hair so bloody I can't even begin to guess what hair colour the patient has. He is covered in a blanket, and flanked by paramedics, nurses and doctors on all sides as he is wheeled into the trauma room. I grab a corner of the sheet under the patient, helping to move him over to a trauma bed. The paramedics clear the room while the attending in charge shouts orders about wanting a head and spine CT, blood tests, 4 milligrams of morphine and hanging a Ringer wide open. While checking the patient's pupils and ears the attending asks some questions, and a voice altered by pain, blocked sinuses and a broken nose answers as briefly as possible from the depths of the neck brace. On instinct rather than conscious thought I grab a bag of IV Ringer, connect it to an infusion set and hang it up. Then I quickly locate the access needle the paramedics has put in the patient's right arm, flush it and connect the Ringer, letting it run wide open. I know the doc is worried about possible shock, about how much blood the patient has lost, and whether or not he might be bleeding somewhere, hence the IV fluids. Keep the blood volume up at all costs, even I know that much.  
«Put another IV line in, in case he needs blood,» the attending orders. I obey without thinking, grabbing the cart with everything I need for putting another peripheral venous line in on the other arm. Used to ignoring the hectic rush around me I grab a swab of disinfectant and focus on finding a vein on the man's lower arm. It is the sudden end to the chaos that makes me look up, as everyone is suddenly staring at the patient.  
"Ron..." He croaks. This is obviously what caused everyone to freeze in their tracks the first time. Hearing my own name coming out of this patient's mouth turns my insides to ice. It takes a moment for me to be able to gather enough courage to look up at him. His face is completely covered in blood, it has congealed and glued one of his eyes shut, and his hair is dark red. But that one eye looking back at me, I would know that eye anywhere.   
«Richard...» I gasp stupidly, dropping the swab I am holding.   
«Ronja, you know this bloke?» Tess asks.   
«Yeah... He's my best mate,» I say absent-mindedly, nodding slowly, my eyes glued to him.  
«Ok, move over, let me do this.» She nudges me gently away with her hip, taking over the task of inserting another IV line.   
«Ron...» Richard croaks again. I rush to the other side of the trauma bed and take his hand, squeezing it gently.  
«Sorry, I didn't realise, I didn't see... What have you gone and done now?» I ramble, fear and concern quickly rising in me. My pulse has been rapid, it always is when I am dealing with a trauma patient, at least until I know whether he is stable or not. Now my heart is hammering in my chest, but for a very different reason. It feels so different when it is a mate, and not just a patient on that bed.  
«What's going on?» Richard croaks, his one eye sweeping over all the people rushing around him.   
«You're doing just fine,» I say, forcing a reassuring smile.   
«Bollocks,» he snorts, rolling his eye at me.   
«You're a bit tachycardic, and your bp is dropping a little, so you might be a little hypovolemic-»  
«English,» he demands.   
«You're bleeding like a pig from that nose of yours,» I translate. «And we need to get some blood back into you.»  
«Who is this guy?» Tess asks.  
«Richard. Er, Hammond,» I add hurriedly, realising that his surname was probably an important detail. Tess gapes at me in disbelief. «I'm guessing he crashed out at Dunsfold, on the track?»  
«Yeah...» Richard croaks. A phone on the wall in the trauma room rings, and Tess quickly picks it up.  
«They're ready for him at radiology,» she informs us. She rummages around for a little with needles and small glass vials, then holds up a full syringe to me as a way of warning.   
«We have to take you to CT, make sure your head and neck is okay. We'll sedate you for a little bit-» I begin explaining to him.  
«No no no, I don't want it to go dark, Ron, please...» He grips my hand so tightly it hurts, obviously terrified at the thought of being sedated.  
«Richard, we have to, you won't be able to lie still enough for this, you're in pain. The effect of it is very brief, you'll be out for ten or fifteen minutes max. I promise I'll be there when you come to, all right?» When he doesn't answer, I ask again. «All right?»   
«Okay...» he sighs. He holds my hand in a tight grip and stares straight at me while Tess injects the drug, and within seconds his grip loosens and his eye closes shut. Tess and the anaesthesiologist that will monitor his vitals for as long Richard is sedated, begin wheeling him out of the room, headed for radiology. Apathetic and shocked I watch the trauma bed rolling away from me, wondering what the CT might show. Over the top of it I spot Jeremy, James and Andy as they come rushing into the ER. I wave at them with a bloodied hand, signaling to them to wait for a second while I wash my hands.  
«Was he unconscious? He wasn't when the ambulance took him away!» I am barraged with questions the moment I approach them, so I lead them into a room away from prying eyes and ears.   
«No, we knocked him out for a little bit, we need to take some images. Full body x-rays are standard with any sort of trauma, and the CT is for checking his head and neck, he must've hit that steering wheel with some force,» I explain hurriedly. All three men look at me with concern and fear in their eyes, suddenly lost for words. «What the hell happened out there?» I hiss, a wave of anger rushing through me at the thought of the accident. What daft, reckless thing had they been doing now? Was this show actually going to kill Richard some day?  
«I don't know! He wasn't even going that fast, about 40!» Andy says, wringing his hands, looking desperately worried.   
«Honestly it looked like the rear diff just locked up, both wheels just stopped,» James says, actually knowing something about mechanics.   
«It was a rear wheel drive, too, I think,» Jezza croaked.   
«Ron, is it bad?» James' blue eyes, normally so calm, pierces me.   
«We don't know yet. He's awake and coherent, which is good. We think he's lost quite a bit of blood, most likely from his nose, but we need to rule out bleeding elsewhere. He'll most likely need a blod transfusion. The CT will reveal if he has any skull or neck fractures, which could be bad news. Listen, why don't you guys go to the waiting room? Have some coffee meanwhile, I'll fill you in as soon as I know some more. I have to go, I promised to be there when he woke up,» I add with a small smile. They all nod and let themselves be steered into the waiting room. After all the diagnostic imaging is done, Richard is wheeled into a quiet room to wake up in peace. I had been there while the doctor reviewed the images and know the results. Looking at him, it would have been easy to mistake him for dead, considering the amount of blood on him. But I know he is alive, I can see his chest rising and falling with every breath, and hear the reassuring beeps of the heart monitor. It only takes a couple of minutes before Richard begins stirring, the effects of the sedative wearing off. I hasten to grab his hand to reassure him that I'm there.   
«Ron? I can't see!» He suddenly says, his hand closing around mine like a vice. His movements are limited as he is still wearing the neck brace, and I can see the panic rising within him.  
«All right, hang on, it's probably just blood in your eyes,» I say calmly, privately hoping that I'm right. «You have to let go of my hand for a moment, love, I have to find some washcloths and water. Reluctantly he losens his grip on my hand, and I run around the room tearing open every closet and cupboard on a mad search for anything and everything that I can clean his eyes with. Eventually I find a washbowl and a big stack of soft gauze squares, and a few towels. I fill the bowl with slightly warm water and dip the gauze in it. «This is going to be wet,» I warn him, squeezing as much water as I can over his eye to soften the congealed blood. On instinct he shuts his eyes tight and screws up his face, then swears loudly as his face hurts. «Hang in there, almost done.» As gently as I can I rub the gauze over his eyelid and lashes, and finally the eyelids slide apart. «See me now?» I ask, smiling at him.   
«Oh thank god,» he sighs, obviously having been genuinely afraid of losing his eyesight.   
«Hang on, let me do the other one.» I carefully clean his other eye until he can open that one as well. «Better?»  
«Yeah, thanks...» He slurrs his words a little, still feeling the effect of the anaesthetic.   
«Okay, so they've had a look at your x-rays and CT. You have no fractures, no dislocations, no pneumothorax, no skull or neck fractures, no broken teeth and no brain bleeds,» I count them off on my fingers.  
«But..?» He asks hesitantly.   
«But nothing. You have a broken nose and a tiny concussion, that's it.» I undo the straps on the neck brace and gently remove it..  
«... R-r-really?» He stammers, looking at me in disbelief.   
«Really,» I smile. Having done this a thousand times before, I raise the backrest a bit, allowing him to sit up a little in bed. He closes his eyes and draws a deep breath of relief. His bottom lip quivers, and it makes me realise how terrified he's been. «You'll be fine, love. I promise. Your nose is going to be sore for a while though. We um... straightened it up a little while you were out,» I admit. «How are you feeling?»   
«Like my nose has been punched out through the back of my head...» he grumbles, sounding oddly nasal.   
«We stuffed your nose with these, um.. nose-tampons, they've been soaked in something that helps the blood clot, stop the bleeding, mixed with some local anaesthetic, so you might feel a little numb.» A red tube catches Richard's eye, and he traces it up to a bag of blood hanging over his head.   
«Yeah, you're getting some blood. You went and poured most of it on yourself, and me, actually so much it made you a little anemic, so you need a little refilling,» I explain.   
«Oh ok... Are you sure my nose is really there?»  
«Yes I am,» I reassure him with a chuckle, squeezing his hand. «A little misshapen perhaps, but definitely there. Your entire face is caked in blood, though, you look like something out of a Peter Jackson movie. Want me to wash it off, or do you want to try yourself?»  
«You do it...?» He asks, almost pleads.   
«All right. I'll be as careful as I can.» I can feel his eyes in the back of my neck as I cross the room and dig out more gauze and towels, then refill the bowl with clean water. Without a word I begin meticulously cleaning his face, trying to be as gentle as I can. «If this was your way of trying to make me not be mad at you, I think you may have overdone it a bit.» Richard gives a snort of laughter that immediately turns into a wince of pain, as any sort of facial expression hurts.   
«Ow! Don't make me laugh!»  
«Sorry,» I smirk, looking into his eyes briefly. «What happened? Any idea?»  
«No...» He mumbles, fiddling nervously with his own fingers. «I was just driving along, then I heard a big clunk and it felt like the wheels... locked up.»   
«Hmm, James said it looked like the rear diff locked up, yeah.»   
«James is here?»  
«Mm, and Jezza and Andy.» Richard falls silent, still fidgeting nervously with his own hands.   
«God, when I woke up in that ambulance... I didn't know what was going on, I was so scared I'd hurt my... my brain again... Or my spine, or... I wasn't wearing a helmet, or neck protection, this was just a normal drive...» He's struggling now, his bottom lip quivering again.   
«I know, sweetheart, I know...» I say soothingly, running my palm up and down his arm. «But you didn't hurt your brain, or your spine, just your nose.» Leaning down I place my lips against his now clean forehead, giving it a comforting, lingering kiss. Richard wraps an arm around me, pulling me in for an awkward hug, needing some closeness. «When I realised it was you I was.. terrified too,» I whisper against his skin before straightening up. «Thank god it was just your conk.» I busy myself with cleaning the last of the blood off him. «Okay, that will have to do for now. I promised the guys to fill them in as soon as I knew how you were doing. Do you want to see them?»   
«Yeah, sure...» Richard nods. «As long as they don't crack any 'got your nose' jokes...» He adds as an afterthought, and I can't help but laugh. Even Richard cracks a crooked smile. «Listen, Ron...» He reaches out to grab my hand. «I'm really glad you were here, because I... I really needed you today. I still do. I'm sorry I keep getting myself into trouble...»  
«Ssssh, Richard, stop that...» I shake my head mildly at him, placing a hand on the back of his neck, caressing him. «This wasn't your fault. I'm just glad you're all right. I'll go see if I can find the guys, yeah?» He nods, squeezes my hand one more time then lets it go.


	14. The one with the nosetampons.

I find the three men in the waiting room, each nervously fiddling a paper cup of coffee. They all shoot out of their seats when I enter.  
«Right guys, sorry that took a while, his eyes were sort of glued shut with blood so I had to clean him up a little». I quickly fill them in on how he's doing, and that the images show nothing but a badly busted nose. I show them into the room and leave them alone for a while, retreating to the nurse's station for a cup of coffee. Filling my mug I realise my hands are shaking, adrenaline still sloshing about in my system. Walking past the door, Tess spots me on the sofa and does a u-turn, entering the room.   
«You're all bloody,» she observes, pointing at my tunic. Looking down I see that she's right, I look like I've ritualistically slaughtered a cow.  
«Oh... yeah...» I mumble disinterestedly, then have a sip of coffee.   
«Just so you know, I've given you the rest of the day off. Not that you're going to go home, anyway, I know that, but... Just focus on him, all right?» Grabbing her own mug and filling it up, she sits down opposite me, staring me down expectantly. «So..?» She prompts after a while.   
«So what?» I frown, genuinely not following.  
«Him! How do you know him? You've never told me you know him!» She gestures wildly with her free hand. Tess isn't one for asking personal questions, 99% of the time she is professional and very rarely talks or asks about anything personal. But this time she evidently can't seem to stop herself.  
«Oh, um.. I had a tiny temp-job at the studio, in Dunsfold, and we both have dogs, so we started taking them for walks together, hanging out...» I answer evasively, feeling a little uncomfortable about suddenly talking to Tess about my personal life.   
«You called him your best mate,» she pointed out, ever the observant one.  
«Well.. because he is,» I shrug, not really knowing how to explain it in any other way. She keeps looking at me, obviously expecting more details. «We spend a lot of time together, we have fun, our dogs had puppies together, you know, we're just.. good friends.»  
«A-ha...» Tess says disbelievingly, squinting at me. «Anyway, I better run, I have things to do. Glad to hear he wasn't seriously hurt.» She empties the dredges of her coffee in the sink and disappears. Having emptied my own cup, I head for the wardrobe to find a clean tunic, then head back to Richard. I meet James, Jeremy and Andy on the way, they are heading back to the track to clear up the mess, handle the press and most importantly figure out what the hell went wrong with that car. They're all acting so different now, no bad jokes or childish teasing, now they're all serious, concerned and thoughtful. All three give me a hug and promise to check in on Richard later, and ask me to take good care of him in the meantime. Richard opens an eye and squints at me as I enter the room, then smiles when he sees me.   
«How are you feeling?» I ask, sitting down on the chair by his bed again.   
«Miserable,» he pouts. «My head hurts, and I'm nauseous.» He looks pale and queasy.   
«Hm, you might be nauseous just because of the blow to the head, or the blood loss. Or maybe a reaction to the pain medication, morphine can make you nauseous. I can go find some meds that might help with the nausea, though? And some painkillers?» I offer.   
«Yeah, that'd be nice...» he mumbles, obviously not feeling good. I hurry out of the room to get what he needs. When I return I discard several syringes on the night-stand before handing him a glass of ice-water. Habitually, having done this a thousand times before, I unscrew the stopper on the IV cannula, flush it with saline before injecting meds against nausea as well as painkillers. All the while I feel Richard's eyes on me, studying what I'm doing intently.  
«What?» I ask, not taking my eyes off the syringe I am holding.   
«Nothing,» he shrugs. «I've just never seen you at work before, you know, do all these nurse-y things before, it's a bit... weird.»   
«You probably shouldn't call the nurse handling your morphine weird, you know» I warned, holding up the syringe full of pain-meds. He made a face, which he immediately regretted.   
«Sorry, no, you're not weird at all, you're a perfect nurse and a perfect woman,» he rambles apologetically, and we share a quiet chuckle. «Ron, would I have to stay here over night? Please don't tell me I have to, I want to go home, to my bed...»   
«I don't know yet, to be honest. It depends on a few things. After this blood has gone in we'll check your haemoglobin again, that must have risen past a certain amount, or you'll need another bag. Other than that, it depends a bit on what the doctor decides. I mean, you're awake and coherent, you weren't unconscious for too long, we haven't found any severe injuries that dictates you having to stay here, and your vitals seem stable. On the other hand, most doctors tend to want to keep head trauma patients in at least overnight for observation, but he he might let you out of here tonight if I promise to look after you.»  
«Would you do that?» He asks, looking insecure.   
«Of course I would, whether you had to stay here overnight or is sent home,» I say determinedly. I wasn't going to leave him tonight, I know that already. Richard opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by a gentle knock on the door.   
«Ron, come here a minute?» Tess pokes her head in and beckons me with a finger. I hurry over to her, raising my eyebrows quizzically, but she takes a step back, inviting me into the hallway and even closes the door behind me. «Listen, there's this woman here saying she wants to see Richard,» she hisses conspiratorially.   
«Huh, who?»   
«The people at the desk called her when he came in, she was listed as his next of kin, as his... his wife,» Tess says. She looks at me as if Richard having a wife would come as a terrible shock to me.  
«What, Mindy!? Short woman, bushy hair?» I gesture to my own hair as if Tess won't know what hair is.   
“You have balls calling anyone short,» she observes dryly.  
«Tess!» I hiss.  
«Yes, that sounds like her...»  
«She's his ex wife!» I groan. «Why is she still listed as his next-of-kin?»  
«These things doesn't update automatically, he would've had to change it himself, maybe he hasn't or never knew he had to...?» Tess suggests.   
«Okay, okay. Just.. keep her out there, I'll come talk to her in a minute,» I grumble, turn on my heel and tear open the door to Richard's room again. He startles and his eyes fly open at the abrupt sound. Trying to calm myself before speaking I draw a deep breath. I don't know what has made me more annoyed, the fact that they called her or that she's actually here. But I know that this isn't Richard's fault, and I realise he might even want to see her.   
«Something wrong?»  
«Richard... Mindy is here." I try to keep my voice as neutral as possible. «She's still listed as your next-of-kin, so they called her when you came in, I didn't know about it.» He frowns, forgetting that it hurts to do so, then he immediately winces.   
«And she actually came?»  
«Looks that way. Want me to go get her?» I offer, gesturing to the door.   
«No, don't...» He mumbles, looking confused and a little upset.  
«Richard, it's okay, if you want to see her, if you want her here..» I begin.   
«See, that's the thing, I don't!» He says, raising his voice a little. «I have quite enough dealing with just myself right now, I really don't want to have to deal with her as well.»   
«... No? You sure?» I ask kindly.   
«Yeah, I'm sure. Tell her that I'm fine and everything, but I just.. don't want her here. I'd rather want you here than her right now, to be honest,» he shrugs, as if it was something to apologise for. This sentiment has me stunned for a moment, then I wrestle myself out of it.   
«Oh, okay.. I'll go.. um, talk to her, then.»  
«I'm sorry, Ron, I don't want to put you in the middle of this, can't you find someone else to talk to her?»  
«Don't worry about it, Richard, I can handle it. I can handle her,» I sniff, trying to sound confident. Despite himself he gives a little snort of laughter.   
«Remember what happened the last time you met her?» He reminds me.   
«Shut up, or I'm cutting you off the morphine. Be right back.» Stepping out into the hallway I close the door behind me, taking a moment to gather my courage and square my shoulders. Eventually I find Mindy in the private waiting room that the blokes from Top Gear had occupied earlier, and I am grateful to find that it is empty. At the sound of my footsteps her head snaps around, and her face falls almost comically as she recognises me.   
«... You?» She says, somehow managing to incorporate both shock, incredulity, anger and pure condescension into this one syllable.   
«Hi, my name is Ronja,» I say, with as much joviality as I can muster, reaching out a hand towards her.   
«I know who you are,» she says flatly, staring coldly at my outstretched hand.   
«Well, then you might also know that I am a nurse, and I work here,» I inform her, a little edge to my voice now.   
«Someone called me, told me that Richard was in an accident,» she ploughed on, eager to show how utterly disinterested she was in anything regarding me.   
«Yes, that's correct. You're still listed as his next-of-kin, and they automatically call the person listed as the patient's next-of-kin if something were to happen. There was some mechanical malfunction on a vehicle he was driving down at the track, it caused the car to stop very abruptly. He hit his head on the steering wheel, broke his nose and consequently lost quite a bit of blood. Other than that he's awake, and has no other injuries.» I have donned my neutral, professional manner, anything to make this feel less personal and awkward.  
«OK, fine, whatever, where is he?» She rolls her eyes impatiently, cross her arm across her chest, seemingly very bored with me.  
«I um... can't show you where he is, I'm afraid.»  
«What?» She narrows her eyes at me.  
«I asked him, he says he doesn't want to see you.» I say it as neutrally and mildly as possible. «I'm sorry.»   
«But they called me!»   
«Yes, I know that. As I said, you're still listed as his next-of-kin, so that is routine. He hasn't manually changed his next-of-kin, hence you got a call.» I try to sound empathetic and apologetic, but know that she hates me all the same.  
«And as his next-of-kin I want to see him!» She says, her voice a little shrill now.  
«I get that, but he doesn't want to see you. Being his next-of-kin on paper gives you the chance to see him, but not the right to.»   
«I'm his wife!» She argues stupidly.   
«Um.. Ex-wife.» I can't resist the temptation of pointing this out to her.  
«This is fucking ridiculous!» She shrieks incredulously.   
«I'm sorry that you had to come all the way out here for nothing...» I mumble, wringing my own hands nervously, finding it harder and harder to keep up the appearance of confidence. «Like I said, he's doing all right. His nose is busted and he has a small concussion, but he'll be right as rain.»  
«You fucking put him up to this!» She points angrily at me.  
«No, Miranda, I promise you I didn't. He has the right to decide for himself.” More than anything I want to run out of there and hide away from this angry woman, but I realise that would be rather unprofessional, besides I've done that once before, so I decide to stand my ground. After a long silence in which she's just glared at me angrily, she takes a step forward.  
«You're a cunt,» she hisses. The plain immaturity of this makes me just look at her in disbelief, my head tilted slightly to one side. After a moment it is as if she realises herself just how stupid her outburst had been, and she rushes out of the room.  
«Well, that went well,» I sigh to myself. Making it back to Richard's room I sneak through the hallways like an amateur ninja, in case Mindy has decided to spy on me to figure out where he is. Closing the door of his room behind me I let out a relieved sigh.  
«You're still alive...» he mumbles sarcastically.   
«Shut up, Rudolf,» I grumble back, make my way to the side of the bed and sit down on a chair.  
«How did it go?»  
«I'm a cunt, apparently.»   
«What?» He squeaks, outraged.  
«Oh, don't worry about it,» I wave. «She was upset, I can sort of understand it, she was the person closest to you for many years, she hasn't gotten used to not being that.»  
«God, you're too understanding,» he huffs. «I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put you in that situation, I should've just told her myself.»  
«I said, don't worry about it, focus on yourself. How are you? How's the pain?»  
«The nausea is gone, but it still hurts like a bitch.»  
«Yeah, I held back on the pain medication, in case that was what made you nauseous.» Getting out of my chair I rummage through my pockets to find the syringe with what was left of the pain medication. «You might go a bit drowsy now, but sleep would probably do you good.»  
«You're staying here, right?» He takes his eyes off the syringe to look at me.  
«Of course I am.» The extra dose of painkillers knocks Richard out, and I pass the time by reading old, boring magazines and checking blood tests. Having talked to the doctor, he has agreed to discharge Richard on certain conditions, as long as his hemoglobin is above a certain level. I know we have to wait a few hours after the blood transfusion to check is haemoglobin again, and they pass incredibly slowly. A gentle knock on the door tears me out of a half-slumber, and to my surprise James pokes his head through the door. I quickly get to my feet and hurry over to him, stepping out into the hallway so I can talk to him without waking Richard, but leaving the door open.   
«Haven't you gone home yet?» I look at my lapel watch that says 7.30 pm.   
«I'm on my way now, I just wanted to stop by and see how he is. And how you are,» James adds, looking at me intently.   
«I knocked him out with some painkillers, that face of his is going to really hurt for a while. He's been given blood, just waiting until we can do another check on his bloodlevels, if they're good I'll take him home later.»  
«Home? I thought they'd keep him overnight,» James frowns.  
«Normally they would, but his vitals have been stable and he's completley coherent when he's awake. He really wants to be go home, he'll be better off in his own bed. But I'll monitor him overnight, check his GCS and keep an eye on him.»   
«And how are you doing, then?» He asks pointedly.  
«Oh, I'm fine. Better off than him!» I snort. James just keeps looking at me, waiting for me to drop the act. «It's been a long day, I admit. It was a shock, realising who was on that gurney. I'm just... so incredibly grateful he didn't hurt himself more than he did.»   
«Yeah, me too...» James sighs, shuffling his feet a little. «I think Richard was very grateful that you were here today. I mean, I met Emily this way, cracking my head open, I was terrified, but then she came along and... I didn't even really know her, I'd just met her, but having her around meant everything to me.»  
“Good thing both Emily and I are nurses, huh?» I smile up at him.  
«It would've meant a lot to him even if you weren't, Ronja,» he says matter-of-factly. «I wish he could see everything he has in you, and that he could appreciate it.» The weight of these words hit me like a brick wall, and I immediately explode into tears, all my pent up emotions just bursting out of me. All the fears and worries, the relief, all the frustration I had towards him, everything came to the surface and fell out of my control. After four or five sobs I manage to get a grip on myself, waving my hands frantically in front of my face.   
«God, James, I'm sorry...» I sniff, frantically wiping away tears.   
«No, no, that's okay. I just have that effect on Norwegian women, it seems,» he shrugs, surprisingly calm at my emotional outburst. He even reaches out and gives me a long hug.  
«I didn't think Captain Slow knew what to do when girls cry?» I sniffle, but gratefully hug him back.   
«I've learned, I had to when I am living with someone like Emily,» he smiles as he pulls away. «And speaking of, I better get home. Keep me posted, yeah? Let me know if he has to stay here or not.»   
«Of course,» I nod with a final sniff, smiling at him. «Drive safe, and say hi to Emily.» James had just been about to turn around when he remembers something. «Oh, by the way, I brought some of Hammond's stuff, wallet and phone and things, figured he might need it. I didn't mean to pry, but the phone kept going off, Mindy must've gotten wind of what happened somehow, she's been calling constantly.» James pulls a sympathetic face.  
«I know, she's been here, too,» I sigh, accepting Richard's things.   
«What, here?»  
«She's still listed as his next-of-kin, so they called her.»  
«From all those calls I'm guessing she hasn't seen him?»  
«He didn't want to,» I shrug in an off-hand sort of way.   
«I guess he doesn't need her. He has you, after all. Goodnight, Ron.» And with that, he turns around and shuffles off. I blink a little, staring after him.

A few hours later I support an unsteady, slightly drugged Richard out of the ER and into my car. His haemoglobin is good and his vitals are still stable. The nose-tampons have been removed, and the doctor has taped up his nose to the best of his ability. I've stolen a pillow from his hospital bed and prop it behind his head, and he is asleep before we leave the parking lot. With the car still running I drop my by own house, quickly pack some things and letting Sprocket have a wee before shoving him in the back of my car. At first I had thought I could take Richard to my house, but I realised all of Richard's clothes were drenched in blood and I had nothing he could wear. I hadn't liked the prospect of driving an hour and a half with Richard being in the state he is in, but he sleeps through most of it, exhausted from medication and everything that has happened. The dogs are at Kristin's, and I've arranged for them to stay there until tomorrow.   
«Come on Richard, wakey wakey, you're home.» I support him out of the car, and flatly denies when he offers to carry a bag for me. «Worry about staying on your own two feet, thank you!» I order, nudging him towards the door while carrying my backpack and a bag of supplies and meds from the hospital. Sprocket lumbers in after us, wondering slightly what is going on. Richard kicks off his shoes and boldly starts tackling the stairs on his own, wobbling slightly. «Richard, hang on! You're stoned out of your mind, you'll fall down the stairs and properly hurt yourself,» I grumble, hurrying after him. I wrap an arm around his back and support him upstairs.  
«I am not stoned,» Richard slurs as we reach the top of stairs, displaying a latency time of about two minutes.   
«You remind me of Sprocket when he came back from the vets after I had him fixed,» I observe dryly, and Richard immediately pulls a face.   
«They didn't fix me, did they?»  
«Not in the sense that they removed your plums, no,» I reassure him. He immediately launches into a fit of hysterical, childish giggling at the mere mention of the word plums.  
«Okay, I might be a little stoned,» he conceded.   
«Your hair really needs a wash, you have more blood in it than in your actual body.»   
«Really?» Gingerly Richard raises a hand and feels his hair, which is sticky and stiff. «Ew. I'll just go have a shower, then.» He twirls around and heads for the bathroom. I quickly follow him inside.   
«No, I'm.. I'm not letting you do that on your own.» I stammer.  
«What do you mean 'not letting me'?» He asks snidely, his bloodied shirt is already half-off.   
«I mean, you've lost a lot of blood, you're on strong pain killers. You could pass out in there and I don't fancy fishing you naked up from the floor. Besides, you could break your neck if you fell, and that is not a dignified way to go, Richard, naked and wet!»  
«But how am I gonna get this off?» he argues. I look at him for a second, thinking.   
«All right, strip to your boxers, sit in the bathtub and I'll help you out,» I order, pointing to from him to the bathtub.   
“Ron, no, I'm not letting you give me a bath!” He argues, the angry, little bloke riling himself up.  
“Yes you will, or you I'll hide your painkillers!” I threaten. He glares at me defiantly, but seeing the stubborn look I shoot back, his shoulders sag. He looks at me with defeat in his eyes, he knows it's either accepting my help or risking breaking his neck naked in a shower.  
“I don't have the will to argue,” he moans.  
“Good. Now get in the tub,» I command. «Shout when you're ready.» I exit the bathroom to give him a modicum of privacy. Heading for his bedroom I deposit my bag of medical supplies and meds, and my own backpack. Realising he will need a dry pair of boxers and a clean t-shirt I hesitantly approach a chest of drawers. It feels very weird, and a little wrong, going through his drawers on the hunt for clothes. 'Needs must', I think, find a t-shirt then sigh with relief when I open a drawer full of boxers and grab the first pair of boxers I could lay my hands on. Distantly I hear his voice calling me from the bathroom, and then I hear the water running. He's obediently sitting in his bathtub, boxers on, looking like a scolded puppy.   
«Oh don't give me that look,» I huff as I get down on my knees by the bathtub   
“But this is so weird, Ron!” He argues loudly. “Ow.. shouting hurts,” he mumbles, flinching.  
“Then quit shouting.” Taking the shower from him I check the temperature before I let the water flow over his hair and shoulders. Richard looks at me with a forlorn, almost shameful look. «Do you have any idea how many people I've washed and showered in my career? And in far stranger ways than this! I'm just grateful this is just blood!» At this he snorts with laughter. Hanging his head he looks at the water flowing past his legs towards the drain. “Bloody hell, that looks horrifying.”  
“Like the shower scene in Psycho, really,” I observe. Out of old habit more than anything else I pour shampoo in my hands and begin massaging his head. With a smirk I notice how he closes his eyes and relaxes, his head hanging limply off his shoulders. “Doesn't feel so bad now, huh, getting a bath?”  
“Mmmmmno, this feels nice.”  
“Don't get too used to it.” With a hand on his forehead I lean his head back a little, rinsing out the shampoo. Whatever blood he'd had on his chest and back had washed away as well, and so I turned off the water and dig out a few towels out of the cupboard. With a careful eye I watch as Richard gets out of the bathtub, but as soon as he's out of it and on his feet I hand him a towel and leave the bathroom. I have invaded too much of his privacy already today. Heading downstairs I grab a few bottles of water and a can of coke from the fridge before heading upstairs again. A few minutes later Richard shuffles into his own bedroom looking like a different man now that all the blood is gone. The nose still looks like a train-wreck, though. With a low groan he sags down on the bed.   
“I had a pee on my own, I hope that was okay,” he announces sarcastically, eyes closed.   
“Yeah, I wasn't going to hold it for you, if that's what you thought,” I shoot back.  
“Just when I thought I could turn this 'being helpless'-thing into something positive,” he mumbles, smiling weakly. I rummage around in a plastic bag for his pills. “What a fucking day.”  
“Amen,” I sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him. “Here, pills.” I hand him a few tablets and an opened bottle of water.  
“What's that?”  
“Pain medication, and anti-emetics.”  
“Anti-what-now?”   
“They can help with nausea. The morphine should pretty much be out of your system soon, so you'll to top up on pain meds too.”   
“Oh.. OK,” he shrugs, accepting the pills and water without further question, takes them then lies back down.  
“Listen, the doctor was all right with discharging you today only because he knew I'd be looking after you. So I'm going to wake you up a few times during the night, check your pupils, your blood-pressure and generally bug you.”  
“Okay...” he nods, obviously having given up the idea of arguing with me. On his night-stand there is a little, black box that I place next to him on the bed. It has a wire on it, and I place the little clip at the end of it on his finger, then secure it in place with medical tape. “What's this?”   
“Pulse oximeter. I bought it for when we were going to Africa, actually. Thankfully I never had need for it down there. It measures your O² saturation, how much oxygen you're getting, along with your pulse. It makes an alarm if your oxygen levels drop below 85%. Just, you know, in case you... die,” I shrug.   
“Good, good, wouldn't want that, no,” he nods slowly, studying the thing on his fingertip.  
“Listen, do you want something to eat? You hungry?”  
“No, not really...”   
“All right, I can't blame you. But I'm starving, I'll just run down and eat something, be back in a bit.” I eat quickly, not wanting to leave Richard alone for too long. I know I'm ridiculous and over-cautious, but the fear that had gripped me when I realised who my patient was, before knowing how bad his injuries really were, still lingers. If I had wanted to be on the absolute safe side, I wouldn't have taken him home, but let him stay at the hospital. But I knew he wasn't very fond of hospitals any more, not after his horrible accident a few years ago, and I couldn't blame him. Returning upstairs he seems to be asleep, so I sneak in quietly, grab my backpack and head to the bathroom to change into my pyjamas. As all the other dogs are away, I didn't have the heart to make Sprocket sleep in 'the dogs' room' all by himself, so I've folded up a duvet from the guest bedroom and placed it on the floor next to the bed. He is happily asleep, and I have to clumsily step over him to get into bed, while trying to not wake Richard. Even though it has only been twenty minutes since I checked it last, I check the pulse oximeter again.  
“Am I dead yet?” Richard mumbles without even opening his eyes, his voice heavy with drowsiness and pain medication.   
“Not even a little bit.” There is a long silence. When he speaks again his voice startles me, as I was sure he'd fallen asleep.   
“Ron...? Why are you doing all this for me?”  
“What do you mean?” I frown in the semi-darkness of the bedroom.   
“You know... being here, helping me with everything, taking such good care of me... I thought you were really angry with me.” I pause for a moment, trying to figure out how to best answer this.  
“Richard... You really scared the life out of me today. You.... You're the closest thing I have to family, to having.. anyone, so... I don't have a choice. I have to do this.” A stunned silence follows these words. I don't even know what made me say it, but it is the closest I have gotten to being completely honest with him in ages. Richard inches over from his back to his side a little awkwardly, then he reaches out to me, his hand finding mine, our fingers interlacing.   
“Thanks, Ron... I mean, that isn't saying much, but... I really don't know what I would've done if you weren't there today.”   
“You would've been taken care of by amazing doctors and some other wonderfully capable nurses,” I say modestly, sort of knowing that isn't what he meant.   
“I know, but... I would've wanted you there, anyway.” He squeezes my hand, but doesn't let it go, just holds it, caresses it until he drifts off to sleep.


	15. The one where mum calls

Richard is still fast asleep when I wake up the next morning. I have slept restlessly all night, waking up almost every hour, unable to resist the temptation of checking on Richard every time I do. I wake him up at 6am to give him more pain-medication before the pain level has a chance to peak. He falls asleep again almost immediately. At 9am I give up and swing my legs out of bed, deciding to get up. I let Sprocket out and start on breakfast for both me and Richard. Half an hour later I am balancing a tray up the stairs, Sprocket following close behind.  
«Oh... you're awake! Did I make that much of a racket in the kitchen?» Entering the bedroom I am surprised to find that Richard is awake and on his phone.  
«No, it was more the absence of your snoring that woke me up,» he shoots back, quick as ever.   
«I was going to give you breakfast, but I think I'll just keep it all to myself,» I smirk, doing a graceful u-turn on the bedroom floor as if I was walking out again.   
«Ron, come back, you don't snore, I missed you!» He shouted. Accepting it as an apology of sorts I re-enter the bedroom and place the tray on my side of the bed. I am just about to open my mouth and say something when Richard's phone suddenly goes off. «Bollocks! Fuck!» He swears loudly, looking at the ringing phone.  
«Huh?»  
«It's mum! She's probably read about the accident in the papers or something! I didn't call her last night! She's going to be.... apocalyptically cross! Here, you take it! Please, Ron, please! Say I'm asleep! Please!» Richard is suddenly reduced to a terrified little boy, scared out of his wits about his mummy going to give him a good telling off. His insistent, panicked begging stresses me out, and just to calm him down I snatch the phone from him and head for the corridor before picking up. If I'm going to have to talk to his mother, and lie through my teeth while doing it, I'm not having him listening in.  
«Richard's phone.» I adapt the same professional tone of voice I normally reserve for picking up the phone at work.  
«Oh, um.. Hello, my name is Eileen, I'm his mother. I just read the newspaper, something about Richard being in an accident? Forgive me for asking, but who is this?» She sounds distraught.  
«Oh, hello Mrs Hammond. I'm Ronja, I'm a nurse and work at the ER in Guildford. I'm also a friend of Richard's. He's asleep right now.»   
«But is he all right? The papers didn't say-»  
«Yes, he's all right, don't worry,» I hurry to inform her, anxious to calm her down. «Something happened with the car he was driving on the track, wheels locked up, he hit his head on the steering wheel. He broke his nose and sustained a mild concussion, but we found no other injuries.»  
«So he hasn't hurt his.. brain again?» By the sound of her voice she was nearly on the verge of tears as she asked this.   
«No, Mrs Hammond. He only lost consciousness for a short while, and he's been completly lucid and coherent after that. Scans showed no bleeds, skull fractures or other injuries.»  
«Good... Good,» she sighs with relief. «Where is he, is he at the hospital or...?»  
«No, he's at home. He was discharged last night, so I brought him home, stayed here overnight to observe him.»  
«Oh... Thank you for keeping an eye on him, that makes me breathe a little easier...»  
«I'm sorry that you've been so concerned, I'm sure he didn't mean to upset you like that. He was given quite a bit of pain medication at the hospital, he was pretty out of it, slept all the way from Guildford to here, and...»  
«That's all right, I understand,» she says, sounding a lot calmer now. «You shouldn't have to make apologies for him, though. This doesn't mean he's off the hook! I don't like finding these things out in the bloody newspaper! No matter how high he is on morphine he should think to call his own mother when he gets in an accident! It's not like he hurt his brain or anything!» She adds, and I can't help but laugh. I can see where Richard got his humour now.   
«I'll be sure to let him know, Mrs Hammond, I promise.» She then goes on to tell me that her son has mentioned me and she is obviously curious about who I am. Mrs Hammond seems to be unusually chatty this morning. Or maybe this was how she usually is. She also thanks me profusely for watching out for her son, before finally letting me go. When I re-enter the bedroom Richard looks at me with fear in his eyes.   
«You've talked to her for ever!» He mumbles through a mouth full of breakfast.  
«I had to talk her out of disowning you, didn't I?» I plonk down on the bed and grab a slice of toast that has now gone cold.  
«Was she that mad?» He squeaks.  
«Not really. She was a very worried mother, mostly.»  
«God, I feel bad now, I should've thought about calling her...» He shifts uneasily on the bed, looking shameful.   
«You were pretty stoned, and exhausted. Frankly it didn't even occur to me that you should inform your family, and I do that for a living. But she told me to let you know you're not off the hook for not calling her,» I informed him.   
«Oh, I know,» he nods, completely unsurprised by this. «Thank you so much for breakfast, you didn't have to do that.»  
«Having your nose smashed beyond recognition warrants a breakfast in bed, I reckoned,» I shrug. «Listen, I'm going to tidy this up and then I'll take Sprocket for a walk, thought I could walk over to Kristin's and get everyone, walk them back here.»  
«I would offer to come along, but...» He shrugs apologetically, looking at me over his cup of tea.   
«That's kind of you, but to be honest I don't think you're up for that. You just rest, have a nap or something,» I wave. He looks pale and tired, and his nose is about as swollen as it gets.  
«Okay...» he nods quietly, not putting up a fight. I tidy up after our breakfast, get dressed and leave for Kristin's. 

The walk takes about 20 minutes, and when I arrive I'm greeted with tea and cakes. I have to fill her in on what has happened to Richard, and she listens with wide eyes and horror in her eyes. She is much more to Richard than just someone who watches after his dogs every now and again, she's grown into much more than that, like a fussy aunt, she cares about him as if he was family. And he appreciates her fussing and her taking care of him. After about an hour at her kitchen table I am anxious to get back, I know I'm being ridiculous but I want to get back and check on Richard, even though I know he's fine. Kristin understands my restlessness and lets me go, but not before she's given me a box of cake for Richard. Balancing five dogs and a box of cake for twenty minutes is a challenge in and of itself, but about halfway the skies open and it begins to pour. Neither the jacket I am wearing, nor the shoes, are waterproof, and by the time I reach the house I am exhausted, drenched and frozen to the bone. Leaving the dogs in the front yard I get out of my sodden shoes and tiptoe on soggy socks through the kitchen and in to the dogs' room, unlock the door from the inside and call them inside. From a cupboard I grab a pile of old towels and start to dry the dogs off. I end up shedding most of my own clothes, as they are so wet and cold I am shaking incontrollably. Having done my best with the dogs I turn up the heating in the floor a little, make sure they have water and leave them to dry off and have a nap. Wearing just my underwear and a t-shirt I hobble through the house and up the stairs, longing for a warm shower. I open the door to Richard's bedroom, hoping he's asleep and won't see me in this state, half-naked and wet. But he's sitting upright in bed, resting against a pile of pillows, staring at his iPad. Spotting me over the top of the screen his eyes widen.  
«Oh no, you got caught out in this?» He asks stupidly. The rain is hammering on the roof, a torrential downpour that doesn't seem like it is going to let up soon.  
«N-n-n-n-no, I went for a swim in the creek,» I stammer, picking my bag off the floor to find some dry clothes. Eager to get away from Richard's stare I quickly shuffle into the bathroom and jump into the shower. No amount of hot water seems to help, however, so I give up after a while, dry off and get dressed. Richard is still awake when I return to the bedroom, but he has put the iPad down.   
«Better?» He asks, but I just shake my head as I walk over to the bed and crawl under the duvet.   
«N-n-n-no, I can't seem to get warm.» My teeth are clattering in my head, and I pull the duvet right up to my nose, wrapping myself up like a burrito.  
«You got pretty soaked, huh?»   
«Yeah, it started about half-way, I didn't know it was going to rain so I wasn't exactly dressed for it. And it was windy.» I'm still shaking, and he notices.   
«I can help warm you up..?» he offers innocently. That offer is one I know I am completely unable to refuse. Having lost my voice all I can do is nod gratefully. «Okay. Come here, then,» he says mildly, and as I inch closer to him he wraps his arms and his duvet around me.   
«This is going to be cold...» I mutter warningly, but even so he draws me close, and I come to rest lying half on top of him, with an arm and a leg draped over him and with my head on his chest. My body is still shaking and I do my best to try and lie still. Richard runs both his palms over my back vigorously, trying to get some warmth back into me. «I did my best to dry the dogs off, they're in their room, I turned up the floor heating a little so they won't get cold. Oh, and there's cake for you downstairs, from Kristin, it was in a box so don't think it got wet.»   
«Okay.. Good,» he mumbles, still rubbing my back.   
«I'm not crushing you, am I?»  
«Don't be ridiculous, of course you're not. You're tiny.»  
«Thanks for this, Richard...» I mumble against his t-shirt.   
«Oh come on, with everything you've done to me, this is the least I can do,» he scoffs.  
«Why do you and I always end up like this?» The question falls out of me before I am even aware of having thought it, and I instantly regret it. I expect Richard to freeze up, and to ask questions about my question, but he does neither.   
«Hm, I don't know...» he admits, sounding thoughtful. «We just do, it's our thing, I guess,» he shrugs. I can feel how the warmth is starting to trickle back into my body, my shaking subsides and finally I can relax a little. When Richard's voice breaks the silence, it is small and regretful. «Ronja... I think I understand why you get angry with me...»  
«Oh...?» I mumble, but I don't dare move or look up at him. And don't even know what I'm afraid of.  
«I bring nothing but misery into your life, do I? With my divorce, and my breakdowns and all my stupid mistakes that I come wining to you about. Or by not paying you enough attention when I really should have, or getting into stupid accidents that ends up giving you a lot of work. Not to mention emerging from your bedroom when your boyfriend comes over...»  
«He really wasn't my boyfriend,» I point out with a humourless chuckle.  
«I know, but I probably ruined that he could potentially become one.»  
«Don't worry, he was never going to be either,» I persist.  
«You said I was ruining your life...»  
«I didn't mean that, Richard, you're not ruining my life, of course not,» I sigh, squeezing him reassuringly with my arm. «I meant to say sorry to you about that, and about getting so angry that morning, I just... blew everything out of proportions.»  
«If I ever made you feel... used, or like I was taking advantage of you and your friendship, I'm really sorry about that, I never meant to. I know I've gotten a lot of comfort and support from you, that I've cried a lot on your shoulder, but that doesn't mean you're just a security blanket to me... It's just that.. Most times it feels like you're the only one I can talk to, or want to talk to. But I realise that being friends with me can probably get a little... intense, and you must get sick of it sometimes. So, if you need to.. not see me for a bit, if you need some space, just.. tell me, and I'll back away for a while.» While Richard talks I listen with wide eyes, surprised by everything he is saying. Because even if Richard and I talk a lot, it is very rare for him to talk like this, so honest and open and about me. About us. And now that he's finished I don't really know what to say. Having thought for a moment I look up at him, my chin resting on his chest. He looks at me nervously, as if he's expecting me to declare that I need a break right now and march out of the house.  
“Richard, you getting in an accident and me taking care of you, that isn't work. Being here and helping you out, being there for you, that has never felt like work, or an obligation. I'm here because I want to be. Yes, so it gets a little intense sometimes, but... I get intense too, I shout and yell stupid things that I don't really mean. It's just who we are; we have wobblers, we do stupid things, we make mistakes, we get into accidents and fight and shout a little, but we always end up like this. It's our thing.»I smile. Richard smiles back, though a little uncertainly, he still feels guilty about everything. "How's your nose feeling?"  
"Sore...," he mumbles. "I forgot for a minute earlier and scratched my nose, it hurt like hell."  
"Did you get some sleep while I was out?"  
"Mno, I couldn't," he shrugs.  
"Fancy taking a nap with me, then?" I mumble, feeling my eyelids growing heavier  
"Mmm." By the sound of his voice he is already half asleep.


	16. The one with the conspiracy of the exes

I wake up in the exact same position I fell asleep in, nestled up against Richard with my head on his chest. His hand is caressing my arm, so gently I doubt that is what woke me up.  
"You awake?" I croak, quietly not to wake him up.  
"Mm..." He sighs. I tilt my head back to look up at him.  
"Been awake long?"  
"Mno, not really. I don't know.”  
"Fancy a cup of tea? I think I'll go make some. I can make dinner later. Maybe. Unless I just call for take out."  
"Tea sounds good. I really need to get out of this bed for a bit,” he groans.  
"Okay. Tea, then." And then, just as I am about to move away from him, I kiss him. It is only a tiny peck on the lips, so quick that I hardly even feel it, a typical little sign of adoration you would give a boyfriend or a lover when you got out of bed or leave for work in the morning. Pulling back hastily we look at each other with puzzled frowns on our faces, as if we're both wondering "what the hell was that?" I shake my head a fraction and then we both burst out laughing, it's the only thing we can think to do. "I'm just going to blame that one on still being half asleep," I chuckle, still shaking my head a little, then I get out of bed. Richard just laughs, raising his eyebrows as if to say "oh really?" I desperately try to hang on to my laughter until I'm out of the room, if only just to hide how mortified I am. How could I have just done that? I had done it out of instinct, or as if it was a reflex, or a habit that I had done so many times that I just did it without thinking. But it wasn't a habit - I had only kissed him once before, and that was a long time ago, and in very different circumstances. Somehow the lines between us, those invisible lines that mark intimacy and personal space, have become so blurred that kissing him feels like a natural thing to do. But it isn't natural, we're just friends. In the kitchen I flick on the kettle before letting the dogs out of their room. They mill around me while I bustle around the kitchen making tea. Boot gives a single warning bark when he hears a footstep in the stairs.  
«Oh who's that? Can it be daddy? Go check it out! Go say hi!» I encourage them, and they all run to the bottom of the stairs to greet Richard. He croons happily at them and pets them all, and they all trail after him into the kitchen. Seeing him up and about just underlines how bad his nose really looks, and I flinch at the sight of him. «Oofh, have you looked at yourself in the mirror today?» I ask as he sits down on a chair.  
«No, I haven't dared, to be honest, I consciously avoided looking in the mirror in the bathroom earlier. Is it that bad?»  
«You don't have any telly shoots scheduled any time soon, do you?»  
«All right, message received, thank you very much,» he sighs. I place a mug of tea on the kitchen table in front of him. «What, I don't get a kiss with it?» He asks cheekily.  
«Shut up or I'll flick your nose,» I growl, my face instantly growing red hot.  
«Oooh, tough love, I like it,» he grins.  
«I will hide your codeine and break your conk all over again!»  
«Aw, that's not fair. I had a good nose, if you do that I'll end up looking like... that french bloke, Gerard something...» He snaps his fingers, trying to remember the name.  
«Depardieu?» I offer.  
«Yes, him,» Richard points at me.  
«His nose looks like.. a gentleman's sausage. The original cocknose.» At this Richard guffaws loudly, then pulls a disgusted face.  
«Ew, Ron, that's revolting...» He takes a sip of his tea, then looks at me over his mug. «As if a little thing like you could hurt me, anyway.»  
«I was about to go find the cake Kristin sent you, but now you can forget it.»  
«Aaaw, but Ron! I have a broken face!» He pouts childishly, and I cave in and find the box of cake. «Are you staying until tomorrow?»  
«I haven't decided yet. It's still raining cats and dogs outside, I don't fancy driving home in this to be honest, and I don't have work,» I shrug.  
«You're welcome to stay as long as you want, you know that right?» He drops the act and turns serious for a moment.  
«Yeah, I know,» I nod, staring into my cup of tea. «Are you hungry? Dinner?»  
«Yeah, a little. I want Chinese food, we could order in?» He suggests.  
«Anything as long I won't have to go anywhere in this weather.» We order take-out, and eat in the living room while watching TV. Richard grows increasingly quiet and pale, the pain is getting worse and in the end he takes a few painkillers and shuffles upstairs to have a lie down. I stay downstairs to watch a film I find on the telly, but about halfway into it the entire room suddenly goes pitch black. A quick look around confirms that the power is out in the entire house. I use my phone as a torch to light my way to the kitchen, and look out the windows, trying to see if any other houses in the area still have power, but everything seems black. The rain is still thundering on the roof, and the winds have picked up in the last hour or so. Does Richard even have candles? The dogs all trail after me as I search through the house for candles, they're obviously not fans of the dark and the sounds of the weather outside. I sigh with relief when I find a bag of little tealights in a drawer. From a kitchen cupboard I grab a few plates to put the candles on, find a lighter in my bag and head upstairs, guided by the poor light from my phone and still being followed by all the dogs. I tiptoe through the corridor and towards Richard's room, thinking he's probably asleep, but the moment I open the door he speaks quietly.  
«Did you find the candles?»  
«Yeah. Seems the power is out in the whole area, must be the weather.» Lighting the tealights and placing them on plates, I place one in the bathroom, leave one on his chest of drawers and another one on a nightstand. «Thought you might need some light, in case the power doesn't come back any time soon. I'll leave you alone,» I mumble, pointing towards the door as I walk a few steps backwards. He needs some rest and I don't want to disturb him.  
«And what are you going to do? Sit all alone in the living-room in the dark?» He challenges, raising an eyebrow at me. I freeze, not knowing what to answer; to be honest I hadn't had a clear idea of what I was going to do.  
«I... thought I could curl up with the dogs in their room if I got scared,» I shrug.  
«And what if I get scared?! That's unfair, leaving me here all alone,» he pouts, and I laugh.  
«All right, guys, seems like we're staying here.” Captain, always the clever one, jumps into a chair and curls up on top of a pile of Richard's clothes. I dig my iPad out of my bag and crawl into bed. «Internet is down, but there's always games as long as the power on this thing lasts,» I shrug. Ever the curious one, Richard looks at the screen.  
«What are you playing?»  
«Chase the Stig! Look, I'm driving Oliver!»  
«What?» He frowns, the fact that this games even exist seems like a complete shock to him.  
«You should know about this, it's a game from your franchise!»  
«I've given up trying to keep track of all the things they make related to Top Gear a long time ago. Ronja, that is a kiddies' game,» he points out, having studied it for a long time.  
«It's not as easy as it looks!» I argue. Richard's retort is cut short when his phone lights up; evidently the mobile networks are still up and running. He pulls a face and puts it down again with a sigh.  
«Um, no thanks.»  
«Is mummy calling again?»  
«No, Jasmine.» At this I hit pause on the game and put the iPad down.  
«Jasmine? I didn't know you two were still in touch,» I ask with a hint of surprise.  
«We're not, really. This is probably the second time I've heard from her since we broke up. She read the news, I guess,» he shrugs. «Can I try that game now?» I hand him the iPad, teach him the very simple controls and watch gleefully as he crashes over and over.  
«Come on, this isn't hard, it's a kiddies game!» I remind him. He swears when his phone rings again a little later, and hands me the iPad to pick up.  
«What is this, the conspiracy of the exes?» He shouts, staring at his phone that now says 'Mindy'. «Ugh, I have to take this or she'll just end up coming over here,» he grumbles.  
«Want me to...?» I gesture towards the door, offering to give him some privacy, but he just shakes his head as he lifts the phone to his ear. Not overhearing the entire conversation is impossible, no matter how much I try to busy myself with the iPad.  
«Hi, Mindy...»  
 _«Hi. How are you?»_  
«Oh, apart from having a broken nose and a power-out, I'm fine, thanks.»  
 _«Listen, they called me from the hospital yesterday, told me about your accident. Because I'm still listed as your next-of-kin, I guess.»_  
«Yeah, I know, I'm sorry about that, I didn't know-» Richard begins, but she cuts him off.  
 _«I was there, you know, but they wouldn't let me see you. That... Ronja, or whatever her names is, she said you didn't want to see me!»_ She sounds mortally offended. She also sounds like she hadn't believe me at all when I had told her Richard hadn't wanted to see her, and like she expects this to come as news to him.  
«Yes, I do know that, Mindy,» he sighs, rubbing his temple. He already know where this is headed. There is a moment of silence on the line.  
 _«You know?»_ There is a definite threat in her voice. _«She put you up to this, didn't she, that girlfriend of yours? Not seeing me?»_  
«Mindy, stop being so damn childish! She told me you were there, she even asked if I wanted to see you. But I told her I didn't. And she isn't my girlfriend!»  
 _«And why didn't you want to see me? We used to be married!»_  
«Because frankly I didn't fancy this kind of bollocking out of you!» He barks back, getting thoroughly annoyed now. «I pulverized my nose, I had enough to deal with! Seeing my ex wife wasn't at the top of my wish list!»  
 _«Bollocking? I was just worried about you!»_  
«Well, don't be! It's not your job any more,» he says bitterly. Then he sighs, and when he speaks again he has calmed down a little. «Listen, Mindy. I'm sorry they called you, I'm sorry you had to drive all that way for nothing, what else can I say? I'm fine, my nose will be just fine, okay?» Amazingly, this seems to calm her down.  
 _«That's good. I'm glad you're all right. Are you still at the hospital?»._  
«No, I'm at home, actually.»  
 _«They let you go home? I thought you had a concussion?»_  
«A small one, yeah. But I really wanted to go home, and they were okay with it as long as someone would stay with me overnight and keep an eye on me.»  
 _«And who did?»_ She asks. Don't answer that, I think to myself. At the very least, lie.  
«Well... Ronja did. She's a nurse, and-» But Richard doesn't get to finish his sentence.  
 _«God, I am so sick and tired of hearing that fucking name!»_ She shrieks, so loudly that Richard's instinct is to pull away from the phone. He looks at it for a little, narrowing his eyes, I can tell that he is debating whether or not to lose his temper. Which makes me surprised at how calmly he answers her.  
«Well, as long as you insist on sticking your nose into my life, you better get used to hearing her name, Mindy. Because she's my best mate and she isn't going anywhere.»  
 _«Oh don't worry, I'm not interested in you and your life any more. Just make sure they won't fucking call me the next you get into a stupid fucking accident,»_ she growls menacingly.  
«They won't, I've put up mum as my next-of-kin now,» he sighs. I'm amazed at how calm he still is.  
 _«Wow, I'm surprised it wasn't Ronja,»_ she snarls, then she hangs up. With a deep sigh he looks at his phone, then throws it away on the bed.  
«I'm sorry...» I mumble, not quite meeting his eyes.  
«What are you apologising for? You haven't done anything wrong,» he says mildly. He rubs his face tiredly, forgets about his nose and swears loudly when he accidentally touches it. «Fucking hell! You know, she would've been just as angry if the hospital hadn't called yesterday. I don't get it, she doesn't want us to be married but she still wants to be the only one in my life. It's like she still expects me to need her and depend on her, and she goes livid when I don't.»  
«She really doesn't like me, does she?» It is a stupid thing to say, but I can't think of anything else.  
«Don't take it personally.»  
«That's sort of impossible, really,» I admit. «Does she still think we're sleeping together?»  
«No. Yes. I don't know. She feels like you're the one taking her place, I suspect. She used to be the person closest to me, and now that she isn't.. She thinks you are. I don't understand much about her, or women in general, but I think that upsets her. The fact that I'm managing fine without her, that I have someone I'm close to and that I don't need her if I have to go to hospital. It doesn't matter that we're not married anymore, or that you and I are just friends, it still upsets her.»  
«She seems to be having a lot of trouble letting go of you, of this marriage.»  
«And I thought I was the one with that problem,» he mumbles, trying to sound ironic. «I don't know what it is about you, but they all seem to be so bloody threatened by you.»  
«They?» I frown, feeling confused.  
«Yeah. Mindy... And Jasmine,» he adds hesitantly.  
«I've barely met either of them, can't see what I've done that made them feel so threatened,» I shrug, genuinely at a loss.  
«Maybe it's just the fact that I'm a boy, and you're a girl, and they don't seem to think that is possible for a boy and a girl to be just mates.»  
«That's stupid,» I snort, but inside I still feel a huge twinge of something. Because they were right, Mindy and Jasmine, apparently it isn't possible for a boy and a girl to be just mates without one of them developing a stupid amount of strong, romantic feelings for the other.  
«I tried telling that to Jasmine, but she wouldn't listen. It didn't seem to bother her so much in the beginning, but after she met you she wouldn't let it go... If I mentioned you, especially if I'd talked to you or said I wanted to see you, spend some time with you, she got upset. She did everything she could to prevent me from seeing you, taking up all my free time. I thought she was being ridiculous, but nothing I said made it okay. In the end she genuinely told me to chose between her and... you,» he finishes a little timidly. This is very different from the story Richard first had told me when they broke up, and I'm so stunned I can't figure out what to say. «So I... chose you,» he adds, a little unnecessarily.  
«You basically broke up... over me?» I breathe, trying to get some clarity.  
«Well, yes,» he shrugs. «I mean, I would much rather have you than some jealous woman who forces me to chose between her and my friend. I don't want to be with someone that possessive and insecure.»  
«I'm sorry...» I mumble.  
«About what?»  
«I don't know...»  
«Then shut up,» he smirks, rolling his eyes at me. I let me head rest against the stack of pillows and stare blankly up into the ceiling, letting my thoughts wander. It is hard to believe that he'd "chosen" me over his girlfriend, even if he had said he didn't quite know why he was dating her. I'm surprised he hadn't told me any of this before, too. Lying there I feel my thoughts spinning out of control. «What are you thinking about?» His voice brings me back to earth.  
«Hm? Oh, nothing,» I shrug.  
«Rubbish. Most of the time I have no idea what goes on in that head of yours. Will you humour me just this once?» He begs.  
«No, Richard, just... forget it,» I say, waving it away as if it was insignificant.  
«Come on.. Please? Something is obviously on your mind.»  
«But it'll just make me sound so... stupid, and pathetic.»  
«Ron, believe me. Nothing you could every say to me would make me think you are pathetic.» He says it in such a sincere manner I find myself believing him. And for some reason I want to tell him. After a moment I draw a deep breath.  
«Do you know what I worry about?» I ask simply, looking into his eyes quickly before looking back up at the ceiling.  
«No. But if my suspicions about you are right, probably a lot more than you are ever letting on,» he shoots back quickly.  
«I worry about what will happen the next time you get a girlfriend. One day you'll meet someone and fall madly in love, maybe get married again, have some kids, and you should do all of that. But I can't help but worry what will happen to me when that happens. And that's stupid, and incredibly pathetic. I don't 'own' you, you know? Spending more time with your girlfriend than your mate is a natural thing. Whenever I've lost touch with good friends or boyfriends or whatever in the past, for whatever reason, I've handled it okay. I maybe missed them a little, but life sort of... went on. But when you and I hardly saw each other for a while, I didn't handle that well at all, I was climbing the walls. I felt lonely, and so bored, and I missed you. I felt like I lost my best mate, and I was a little shocked to find out how much I've become reliant on you. I haven't been dependent on anybody for as long as I can remember. I hate this feeling. It makes me feel sort of... weak.» I've mostly stared at the ceiling while I've talked, and only thrown a few quick glances over at Richard to gauge his reactions. Now that I've stopped talking the silence is absolute part from the rain outside. «From now on you're going to be glad you don't know most of what is going on in my head,» I mumble.  
«I still don't think you're pathetic. Not even close,» he begins, and this makes me look at him. «Relying on someone isn't the same as being weak or needy, at least I don't think so. Being completely independent from everybody around you is almost impossible, and it's certainly not natural. Humans, we're not made to be alone. If it's any comfort, I'm dependent on you too; I was oddly lonely and bored too when I didn't see you for a long time. And I know that you don't... have as many people in your life as I do, I have a big family and things, but...» He pauses, thinking. «Ron, I don't what will happen in the future, or when, or how, I can't know... But I know that the only way you will get me out of your life is if I drop dead. And who said it'll be _me_ that meets someone? It might as well be you? Maybe you'll stumble over some handsome doctor, run off to get married in Fiji and I'll be left here, moping, trudging around the Cotswolds in my wellies with only my dogs for company,» he finishes dramatically. At this I give an incredulous snort of laughter, shaking my head. «Listen, if I do ever meet someone, she'll just have to get used to the fact that my best mate is a girl and that she'll be spending a lot of time around our house. And if I ever do get married again, you'll be my best woman. And you'll be auntie Ron to the kids,» he adds quickly. I can't help but laugh loudly, feeling relieved at how well Richard seemed to have taken my brutal honesty, and feeling a little touched by his reponse.  
«All right. And I promise that if I ever get married you'll be my maid of honor. And auntie Hamster to the kids.»  
«Would I have to wear a dress?» He looks at me inquisitively from under slightly raised eyebrows.  
«Yes. I'm thinking lilac. With poofy sleeves.»


	17. The one with the rude wake-up call.

I left Richard the next day, having done all I could to help him so he could cope on his own with his busted nose. The BBC and Top Gear had issued a public statement to the media assuring everyone that Richard had _not_ been in another major accident involving severe brain injuries, it was simply a faulty rear diff and a badly broken nose. If it hadn't been for work I probably would have stayed with him longer, but I had a nightmare week coming up with seven shifts in seven days, and I was not looking forward to it. It was odd, because following my intense week of shifts I suddenly had an entire week off, and I couldn't remember the last time I had that. But for once I hadn't argued with the ward nurse who made these schedules. Maybe a week of doing nothing would do me some good. Maybe I could go somewhere, take Sprocket somewhere, the beach maybe... Or maybe do something with Richard, if he was free? He probably wasn't going to work much until his nose healed, at least not on camera. I only had vague plans, I would have to get through my hellish week and then I'd decide after that what I was in the mood for. 

After I have finished my last shift that Sunday evening, I come home at around eleven and celebrate having survived by drinking half a bottle of wine and not getting into bed until half past two. What I am going to do with the seven shiny days of freedom lying before me I ill decide tomorrow. It feels like I have barely put my head on the pillow when an incessant knocking on my door abruptly wakes me up. Glancing at the clock it is only 4.30am. The knocking has awoken Sprocket too, who is now barking and bounding up and down the corridor excitedly, thinking it's morning. More incessant knocking causes me to wallow out of bed, and I grab a dressing gown and hurriedly throw it on as I walk to the front door. I open my door just a little and peer through the crack. On my doorstep is Richard, looking wide awake and shamefully fresh considering it was 4.30am. When he sees me he grins widely.   
“Good morning!”   
“Morning? Richard, I just got into bed like two hours ago!” I complain with a hoarse voice, opening the door wider for him.   
“That's your own fault, you chose to go to bed late!” He argues back. He seems chirpy and excited.  
“Yes, I did, because I didn't know you would come knocking at this ungodly hour! Why are you even here?” I groan back, longing to crawl back into my warm, soft bed.   
“I am here to tell you that you need to have a shower and then go pack a bag!” Having kicked off his shoes he tramples through my house into the kitchen and sets about making coffee.   
“I.. what? Pack? Why?”  
“No questions, just do as I say! Pack for six days worth, things like dresses, shorts.. Whatever you women wear in warm, sunny weather. Oh and don't forget your passport.”  
“Passport?” Mind still soggy with sleep I stare stupidly at the man bustling around in my kitchen.   
“Yes, passport! You know, little square book, has your picture in it?”  
“Yes yes, but why do I--” I begin.  
“Ah ah ah. No questions! That's a question! None of those! Go, woman! Shower! Pack! I'll make breakfast.”  
“What if I won't go,” I say sternly, planting my hands in on my hips.   
“You will,” he says, not the least bit worried.   
“This is technically kidnapping, you know. I won't do it, I'm not going.” I cross my arms defiantly.  
“You will, because you're too bloody curious not to go,” he points out with a smirk that is annoyingly confident. Too tired to think of an argument for something that was actually true, I turn around and head for the bathroom. I get only halfway before I turn around and go back, having thought of something.  
“But what about Sprocket? I can't just leave him?”  
“We'll be out of here by 6, and Kristin will be here to pick him up at 9 or 10. He can stand being three or four hours alone at home, right? And he loves Kristin, he'll be happy to follow her when she picks him up.” He seems to have thought of everything. I open my mouth to argue, but can't think of anything immediately.   
“... Oh,” I mumble feebly. Defeated, I head for the bathroom again, but only take a few steps out of the kitchen this time before returning. “How did you know I have an entire week off from today?” I squint at him suspiciously.   
“I... sneaked a peek in your almanac thingie, sorry,” he shrugged, looking apologetic. “You'll thank me later, I promise.”   
“Oh... Okay.”   
“Ronja, shower! Now!” He points sternly in the direction of my bathroom, and I quickly follow orders. The warm water against my naked skin makes me marginally more awake, but I still feel like a zombie. What was going on? What on earth is he up to, what has he planned? And why? I feel confused, suspicious, and tentatively excited. I rack my brain, trying to think of anything we might've talked about that could shed some light on this; places we've talked about wanting to go, things we've wanted to see, but nothing comes to mind. Finished getting ready in the bathroom I quickly pack toiletries and clothes, trying to dig my summer clothes out from the back of the closet. It was just April, and the summer clothes hadn't been brought out of hibernation just yet. Would I need a bikini? A “nice” dress? Would I have to dress up at some point? Asking Richard would be no point, he had given me all the instructions he was going to. In the end I packed mostly everyday clothes for summer, but ended up shoving a bikini and anice dress into the small suitcase, even a pair of heels. Entering the kitchen again I was met by toast, a mug of coffee and no one else. The absence of Sprocket made me realise that Richard had taken him out for a walk. Sitting down on a barstool I take a few moody bites of my jam toast, still too tired to really feel like eating. The silence in the house is complete, and it is luring me back to sleep. Eventually I sink down over the counter, rest my head on my arm and close my eyes, feeling like I have to rest my eyes. The quiet is short-lived, ten minutes later my door opens, then slams shut and Richard is jabbering loudly to my dog as if he was another human.   
“Hey hey hey, none of that, wake up!” He shouts as he spots me, and pokes me in the ribs on both sides to wake me up. I'm horrendously ticklish so I sit bolt upright not to be poked again.   
“But I'm sooooooo tired!” I whine.  
“I made nurse-strength coffee. Here, that'll help.” He offers up the mug to me, and I accept it moodily. “Bring a pillow, you can sleep a bit in the car.”  
"Thanks..." I mumble, feeling bad for complaining. I take a sip of my coffee and look at him. "By the way, your nose looks so much better now, it's amazing what has happened in a week. It's healed really well, looks good!"   
"Thanks," he smiled. perking up a little. Half an hour later I find myself by the front door, suitcase in one hand, handbag in the other and pillow tucked under one arm. “Sure you've brought everything?” Richard is practically bouncing on the soles of his feet with giddiness.   
“Yes,” I grumble, rolling my eyes, not even bothering to check.  
“Passport?”  
“Yeeees.”  
“Camera?”  
“Mno, just my phone.”  
“That's fine, I have mine. Ipad? Chargers?”  
“Yes. Yes,” I answer dully.   
“Clothes? Toothbrush? Panties?”  
“Yes. Yes. And no, I always go commando, didn't you know that?” At this he freezes and looks up at me with eyebrows raised.   
“Good. Erm, good to know, I mean. Saves on laundry, I guess.” He jabbers awkwardly, squirming a little.   
“Richard, I was joking!” I can't help but laugh, and this upswing in my mood instantly brings back his own cheerfulness.   
“Okay, go on then!” He shoos me out the door. I give Sprocket a final scratch before locking the door and hiding the key under a stone in a flowerbed that had been empty of flowers since I moved in.   
“It had to be the Porsche, huh? Didn't I say I was never going to set foot in that?” I stop abruptly, staring at the offending car. Annoyingly, my brain immediately conjures imaginary flashes of Richard having cramped sex in it.   
“Oh give up! I've been in your bed, you've had sex in that, what's the difference?” He argues hotly, crossing his arms over his chest.  
“Space. A lack of leather. You can change the sheets on a bed. Don't tell me you've changed the sheets in that.” I point at it.  
“Well... no, but... Oh come on, this argument is ridiculous. Get in, will you!” He barks. I'm too tired to argue any longer, I just hand him my suitcase and get in the passengers seat, buckle up and stuff the pillow behind my head. Richard throws my suitcase in the back next to his and gets in, still grumbling.  
“..Jesus, you would think I had every STD known to human kind...” He mutters under his breath. I smirk to myself at his good-humoured mumblings. I have questions, millions of them, chief of which is 'where the hell are we going?' But I know there's no use in asking, I might be stubborn but I know Richard is just as bad. So instead of asking I decide to finally give in to my lingering tiredness, close my eyes and am out like a light.  
“Where are we?” I croak as I am unwillingly allowing myself to be shaken awake. Opening my eyes I realise we're in a parking house.   
“Heathrow,” he says simply.   
“That doesn't help me at all,” I complain.  
“I know,” he grins wickedly, then gets out of the car. I groan, unbuckle my seatbelt and clamber out of the low car. The shady air of the parking house feels icy cold in this April morning, and I shiver and groan again, a little miserable. It is hard to feel even marginally excited when I have no idea what to expect from the coming days. “Come on, lets get through security and I'll get you more coffee,” Richard offers, wraps an arm around my back and squeezes me once. Suddenly I feel incredibly guilty, not to mention rather rude, acting the way I am. Here he is, doing something really nice for me. Admittedly I'm not quite sure just what, yet, but I assume it is something nice, and I'm being a grumpy git to him. I shake my head to try and wake myself up, grab my suitcase and follow after him through the parking house, which seems to be some sort of VIP parking connected straight to the terminal. Shuffling after Richard he leads me in a different direction to what I am used to, away from normal check-in counters and security areas.   
“Where are we even going?”  
“Business check in. Basically just 'check in for rich tosspots',” he explains over his shoulder. “But it beats the queue for the security check and a million people wanting to say hi to me. I don't mind that, normally, its just.. too early.” He holds up a hand, shuddering at the idea of having to talk to strangers. For the first time he lets his own tiredness show.  
“God, you must've been up since like.. 2am.” He just hums tiredly in response and keeps on walking. When we reach this separate check-in area there is only a few, very tired but important looking men milling around, trying to find their passports. Richard checks us in with a warning to the lady behind the desk not to tell me where we are going, assuring me he hasn't kidnapped me. I nod dutifully. When he isn't looking I swear the woman winks at me and gives me a look of 'oh god aren't you the luckiest woman in the world'. I just smile politely, privately thinking that maybe I am. Our luggage disappears and we shuffle through a completely queue-free security check, emerging into a huge, exclusive looking hall on the other side.   
“Business lounge!” he exclaims. “Comfy sofas, free coffee and almost no people. I love this place,” he sighs. “Coffee?”   
“Quadruple espresso,” I smile.   
“Huge café latte with way too much sugar coming up,” he teases and hands me his bag. “Go, sit down.” He returns with coffee, a few newspapers and a pocketful of chocolate. We grab a paper each and work our way through our coffees in silence, both of us trying to wake up. After about fifteen minutes of this I can't take it any longer.  
“Okay, I know you said no questions, but... I assume we're here because we are taking a flight somewhere? Can you just tell me when that is?” I beg.  
“Nope. Because you'll look at the departure board behind me and suss it out,” he mumbles, not even looking up from his newspaper.  
“Dammit. You're too clever for me, Hamster,” I squint at him, sounding like a bad Bond-villian, and giggles are audible from behind the paper. Looking up at the departure board I scan the destinations and wonder where the hell we are going. Vienna, Zurich, Frankfurt, Amsterdam, Brussels, Edinburgh, Paris, Copenhagen, Milan, Washington... Somewhere warm, he said. Istanbul? Lisbon? Is Lisbon hot? Has to be. But why he would take me to any of these places is beyond me. I try to pace myself, try do distract myself with the newspaper and my phone, but all I can do is watch the minutes tick by and wonder when we are going. And where. I am about to give up and ask if he's just dragged me here as a prank when he finally stuffs his things into his bag and looks at me.   
“We better get going, I think.” Like an over-excited toddler I hastily stuff all my things into my handbag and nearly fall out of the sofa in my eagerness to get out of it. As soon as I'm on my feet I tug at his sleeve.  
“You have to tell me where we're going now. I'll know in a few minutes, it will say on the screen by the gate.” I stare at him with pleading eyes, holding my breath.   
“All right, all right, I guess you're right,” he admits, rolling his eyes. He pauses, just to torture me, and I tug harder at his sleeve and jump up and down.  
“Hammond, come on, I'm peeing my pants here!”   
“I thought you weren't wearing pants?” He quickly looks down, as if looking for said pants.  
“Richard!!”  
“Okay, calm down,” he says, annoyingly calm himself, waving me down. “If you must know, you and I are going to Italy. Milan, to be exact.” My jumping and tugging at his sleeves comes to an abrupt halt, and suddenly all I can seem to do is gape at him. Italy? It had been apparent ever since he asked me to pack a bag and find my passport that we were travelling somewhere, of course, but it was as if the reality of it didn't hit me until now. Having a name, knowing a place we were going, changed everything. Maybe I hadn't really believed he was taking me anywhere until now.   
“I-i-italy? You're taking me to.. Italy?” I stammer, still gaping.  
“Yes! You know, country shaped like a boot? Pasta and the pope and.. things...” His voice fades out as he looks at me, he's trying to discern what my expressions means.  
“Really?” I squeak, my bottom lip wobbling dangerously.   
“Really,” he nods, looking a little proud of himself. Smiling I wrap my arms around him, mostly to try and hide the fact that I was almost crying, and I bury my face against his neck and cling onto him in a huge bear hug. He runs his hands across my back, returning the hug.   
“Thank you,” I whisper, as heartfelt as I can, and hug him a little longer. It doesn't even occur to me to ask why; why didn't even matter. I was going to Italy. We were going to Italy.  
“Come on, we'll miss the flight,” he reminds me, but doesn't relinquish his grip on me. I give him one last squeeze and am unable to resist giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek before letting go of him. 

My next surprise comes as we board the plane and I am shown into first class for the first time in my life. Both me and Richard dump our short, tiny bodies into huge luxury armchairs and are promptly offered the choice of champagne or any other beverage known to man. We both go for more coffee.  
"First class, Richard? Really?" I raise an exasperated eyebrow at him. He shrugs non-committally.  
"It's a bad habit I've picked up travelling with Top Gear and everything else. I spend so much time on planes that if I would have to endure economy class all the time I wouldn't be able to do this job, Ron. It might sound poncy, but this is my life, quite literally." He throws his hands out, gesturing to the cabin in general.  
"No, no, I get it. I didn't mean it as critiscism really, I was just.. surprised. I've never sat foot in first class. But I really understand you, if I was in a plane sixy times a year, being in economy wouldve driven me nuts."  
"Never been on first class? It was about time then!" He smiles. I drink my coffee and rifle through another paper I've been given. I was about to put the paper down and ask Richard why we were going to Milan, what the plans were, but looking over at him he's already fast asleep, neck in an awkward position, if he sleeps like that he'll be in pain for the rest of the day. Deciding that I am going to take advantage of the fact that I now am on first class, I hail a stewardess and ask for a pillow and blanket, which she returns with promptly. I can't help but notice that she keeps an eye on us, clearly recognising Richard and wondering who I am.  
"Richard, here..." I place a hand on his chest to try and rouse him gently. He mumbles and groans, unwillingly being woken up. "It's just a pillow, love, lift your head a little..." Eyes still more or less closed he lifts his head enough for me to slip the pillow under his head. "And here, you can adjust your seat back." The huge seat can be moved with electrical buttons, and I press one to make the back of Richards chair recline backwards.  
"Oh god, I love you Ron," he mumbles in gratitude for his now very comfortable position, still half asleep. I finish off by throwing the heavy blanket over him. He sleeps soundly the rest of the flight, and I try to as well, but I am too hopped on caffeine and too curious about what is going to happen in Italy that I can't. I doze of a little, maybe, but mostly I wonder what is going on. Italy and Milan, I associate them with romantic locations, places people go for romantic getaways, but this isn't that. It can't be. Or maybe he has plans? Maybe he is taking me there to finally admit to some feelings? Or at least to talk about "us", whatever we are, figure out what we are actually doing. But I'm not going to expect anything like that, it will only make me disappointed. My best guess is that he just wants to do something nice for me, and with me, just mates going away to have fun together. I had said I'd never been to Italy and wanted to see it, and he decided to take me, and we can have some fun. That is probably the only agenda Richard has, anything else would be too complicated.


	18. The one with the rental car

Twenty minutes before we land I gently rouse Richard and give him more coffee, trying to coax him back to the land of the living by the time we land. Getting out of the plane I am met by a completely different temperature than back home, the feel of the air is different, and I take in as much of it as I can. This is exciting, I am in a completely new place, a new country, a different climate. Standing by the baggage reclaim waiting for our bags I can't help but ask.  
"Richard? Does this whole 'not asking questions' thing still apply? I mean, I would like to know what your plans are..." I ask hesitantly.  
"Well, I thought we could just rent a car and drive around the country, really? Best place to see a country is just to drive through it? I've planned a vague route I thought we could take, and booked some hotels along the way, ones I've stayed at before or heard good things about. We've driven around Italy quite a bit on the show, so I know a few roads that are nice to drive."  
"Oh, okay! That sounds great! Italian road trip, huh? Great idea," I smile, very happy with the answer I am given. We get our bags, queue our way through the passport check and customs, then we're through to the departure hall. I immediately start looking for a sign for car rental. "Well, there's Hertz and Europcar over there..." I point in the direction of the signs.  
"I've already sorted a rental car," he answers vaguely, seeming distracted. "Don't worry about it." He's looking around, searching for something, or someone, and then he heads straight for a man who seems to be waiting. He has obviously met Richard before, because greets him politely and welcomes him to Italy. The gentleman continues telling Richard that all the papers are signed and in order, and 'here are the car keys sir', handing him a set of keys. He is clearly Italian, but speaks very good english.  
"The car is in a private parking lot, it can be a bit tricky to find, want me to drive you straight there? I can just drop you off, its along the way I'm going." Richard accepts this offer gratefully, and I just smile and nod, feeling completely lost. What sort of rental car is this? Who was that guy, was he with a rental car company? Is this another part of the special treatment people like Hammond get? We trail after the well-dressed man, put our suitcases in the back of his very nice Mercedes and he drives us to a fenced-in, big carpark a bit away from the airport itself. It has heavy security, and seeing all the cars lined up here, I have no problem seeing the need for it; Porsches, Lambos, Ferraris, Maseratis, expensive Audis and Mercs, you name it. He waves us farewell and drives off.  
"So this is where all the rich and famous park, huh?" I breathe, staring at the amazing lineup of cars.  
"Yup. Which one is ours, do you think?" He asks, a mysterious smirk on his face. He's loving every second of this, and it shows.  
"I don't know! I don't see any Polos or Fiats around..." I shrug. Richard digs the keys out of is pocket and hands them to me. The key itself doesn't say any brand, but it has a lock and unlock button.  
"Here. Unlock it, see which one lights up." I have to do it a few times before I spot which car has blinking indicators. I hadn't even noticed it, it blended in with all the other very expensive luxury cars on the lot. I lock it and unlock it once more, making sure it was the one. The colour was a deep burgundy purple. 'It can't be...' I think to myself as I walk closer to the back of the car. It IS an Aston Martin, a DB9 to be exact. In a dark aubergine purple, my favourite colour. Once again, just having to make absolutely sure, I lock and unlock the car, seeing the indicators flashing on it once again. After a long moment of silence I finally manage to open my mouth, but then I realise I don't even know what to say and just close it again.  
"This is the real surprise, you see," Richard expains, looking almost nervous and shy now. "The last time you only got to drive it for a little while on a track. And that isn't enough, is it. So I thought I'd take you here, some of the best roads I've ever been on are here. And you could drive that car some more, and see Italy at the same time.»  
"Me...?" I squeak, tears already bursting from my eyes.  
"Yes, you. I drive these sort of cars all the time, I'm lucky that way. Now it's your turn." At this point I cant hold back any longer, I throw myself at Richard and wrap my arms around him, crying in earnest now. "God, I really need to work on my surprises. Every time I try to surprise you, you just end up crying a lot." He holds me patiently, pats my back, kisses my forehead once then pulls back. "Now stop crying and get in, will you? I'll get the luggage." I have a million things I want to say, so many feelings battling for dominance inside me, it is overwhelming and makes me confused. So I just nod, go to the driver's side and get in. The interior is in a gorgeous mix of grey and chrome, with purple stitching to match the outside, and I am violently in love. I run my hand reverentially over the steering wheel and the dashboard. Having put our luggage in the back, Richard gets in and closes the door. The look he gives me is full of excited anticipation. «So, what do you think?»  
«I'm.. I... She's beautiful,» I stammer, lost for words.  
«I thought you'd like the purple colour. I think the people at Aston Martin must be colourblind though, because they've named it 'amethyst red'.» He rolls his eyes.  
«It's gorgeous,» I breathe. The shock of everything has made me unable to say anything that is on my mind.   
«Want to know the plan? I do have one!» He announces proudly, and all I am able to do is just nod. «I've had them plot the route and all the hotel addresses into the sat-nav,» he begins explaining as he starts fiddling his way through the menus on the screen in the mid console, trying to find the sat nav. «Today we're going to drive down to San Marino via Bologna, that should take about three and a half hours but we can stop as much as you want. Actually we'll stay at a hotel by the coast, a little outside San Marino. Tomorrow we'll drive mostly along the coast down to Bari, which is here...» He tracks the route on the map. «There's this place a little south of Bari called Pol.. Polignano a Mare, or something like that, it has a really cool restaurant I want you to see. Anyway, on Monday we'll drive straight across the country to Naples, taking the long way it'll take about four hours. After Naples we'll drive to Rome on Tuesday and stay there until we're going home on Thursday, thought you might want a day to have a look around. Sound good?» He asks after a minute of stunned silence.  
«I'm sure that's... absolutely perfect,» I mumble. Richard gauges me intently, trying to work out why I am acting so strange. «I'm sorry, I'm just... absolutely gobsmacked, I don't know what to say or do right now.» My hands are actually shaking.  
«Gobsmacked is better than crying,» he smiles. Unable to think of anything to say I reach over and hug him again, mostly just to hide the fact that I am on the verge of tears again. With a deep breath I relinquish my hold on him and straighten up, getting myself together.   
«Okay, enough of this teary touchy feely nonsense, can I drive now?!» At this he laughs loudly.   
«Of course, go go!» I spend the first half hour driving the car feeling equally terrified and excited. The sat nav is on and guiding me, but I am still driving in a completely unfamiliar country, and I keep bombarding Richard with questions about signs, road markings and the traffic around me. Just the fact that I have almost never driven in right-hand traffic makes everything even more confusing and nerve-wracking. I had barely had time to learn to drive in Norway before I moved to England, which has left-hand traffic. Eventually I manage to calm down and settle into it, getting used to the roads and driving on the 'wrong' side. Richard seems to have complete faith in me, he hardly watches the road but keeps searching for something to listen to on the radio. His constant station-surfing along with the incomprihensible jabbering in Italian quickly gets on my nerves.   
«Richard, this car is bound to have bluetooth. Connect my phone to the stereo or something? Italian radio doesn't seem to do it for you.» He accepts the phone happily and connects it to the car stereo, then hands it back over to me to control the music. We stop often, to stock up on drinks and snacks, or just to enjoy the view and have a cigarette and stretch our legs, even if we aren't scheduled to drive more than four hours today. The sudden Italian heat is a bit of a shock to my system, but a very pleasant one. But all of this is a shock. I still can't believe I'm here, in Italy, driving this car. We make another stop in Bologna, getting lost on the way both in an out of the city trying to find somewhere to eat. After that we head south and I squeal with joy when I finally spot the coastline. Before I know it the car starts guiding me off the main road and into a town called Rimini, directing me to our first hotel.   
«Don't tell me you booked this just because it's called 'Hotel Touring',» I groan, looking up at the sign of the hotel. Richard giggles.  
«Acutally, no! We stayed here once, can't remember when, but I remember it was a nice hotel. And it has secure parking, which is kind of important when you drive about in this thing,» he points out. Personally I think that calling it just a 'nice hotel' is a bit of an understatement. It is an exclusive, four star seaside hotel on the Italian riviera, with indoor and outdoor pools and a massive restaurant.   
«Richard, this place has its own spa..!» I hiss excitedly.   
«I know! I think some spa-thing was included with the room, actually. I'd say go for it,» he winks and gives me a keycard. «That's you, this is me, I'll be next doors. I booked us in for dinner at 9. It's only 5.30, means I can have a dip in the pool!» He smiles excitedly.  
«I like your thinking, Hamster,» I grin. I traipse after him through the hotel lobby and into an elevator that takes us to the top floor. Having found our respective doors I shove the keycard in the slot. «Race you to the pool!» I shout, tearing my door open.   
«You're on!» He shouts back, and disappears into his own room. Looking over my room I suspect that Richard hadn't just settled for 'normal' rooms; the furniture and decor in these looked far too exclusive. I wrench my suitcase open, tear off my clothes and dive into my bikini, hastily pull a jersey dress over it and grab a towel and flipflops. All the while I have tried to listen for doors slamming in the hallway, indicating that Richard might have left, but I haven't heard any. Believing I might win I grab my handbag and race downstairs. Reaching the pool area, completely out of breath, I notice that Richard is already there, swimming around placidly with an annoying, smug look on his face.   
«I swear you wore swimming trunks under your jeans and dove right in from your balcony,» I grumble as I discard my stuff on a sunbed. I sit down on the edge of the pool, dipping my legs in. The water temperature is perfect, low enough to cool me down without being too cold. Once again I close my eyes and face the sun, enjoying the light and the warmth. I drew a deep, relaxing breath, but I am suddenly grabbed hold of and and being yanke off the edge of the pool and into the water. I squeal and flail, the water suddenly feeling ice cold against my sun-warm skin. While I had zoned out for a moment, enjoying my surroundings, Richard had managed to swim right up to me without me hearing or seeing him, and pulled me in. Now his childish laughter is ringing in my ears. «Richard, you blithering idiot!» I splutter, trying to get the wet hair out of my eyes. «You should be so glad there are people around to be witnesses, or I'd drown you!» I threaten, childishly splashing some water in his face.   
«You were taking forever to get in, I was just trying to help!» He explains, his arms outstretched in a gesture of innocence. I glower angrily at him. «How about if I go get you a cold pint? Would that help?» He offers.   
«... Maybe,» I concede hesitantly.   
«Great! Could you get me one too while you're at it?» As soon as he has said this he lunges away from me, swimming as fast as he can to the nearest exit out of the pool while shouting; «joking!» Giving up on chasing him I lay back and let myself float for a minute, enjoying the feeling of being almost weightless. I've been in a state of surprise, shock and confusion all day, and I haven't landed yet. Finding myself in a pool on the Italian riviera feels absolutely surreal, and for the millionth time today I half wonder if I am going to wake up from my dream any time soon. The sound of Richard's voice shouting my name catches my attention; he is standing by the side of the pool, wrapped in a towel, a pint in each hand. As I emerge from the pool he holds a glass out to me.   
«Peace offering,» he smiles.   
«Ah, you know my weakness. You're forgiven,» I smirk, accepting the glass. I sit down on a sun-bed, and Richard sits down on the one next to mine. His hair is wet and handsomely dishevelled, his skin is glistening with droplets of water, he's only wearing a pair of swimming trunks and he's smiling his gorgeous smile at me. A millisecond too late I realise that I am unable to take my eyes off him, and to stop myself from gawking at him further I lounge back on the sun-bed and close my eyes, pretending to enjoy the sun and my beer. He does the same, sighing happily.   
“I have died and gone to heaven,” he groans, and I just chuckle quietly. As I am lying there, on a comfy sun-bed in a very expensive hotel, having driven here in a very expensive car, another wave of guilt and general ill-feeling washes over me. I've had the same feeling several times today, but I've managed to push it away, let myself be distracted by the car I've been driving or my gorgeous surroundings. But this time I can't seem to shake it.   
«Ron? What's up? You're being too quiet.” Richad knows me well enough to notice the change in me. I open my eyes to look at him, and the expression in my face confirms his suspicions.   
«Richard... I am trying to just be happy and excited about all of this, but I can't help but feel a little... Guilty. I can't stop wondering how much all of this costs! I mean... Just the flight, and first class, and renting that car, and this hotel, and... How am I ever going to pay you back?"  
"Ron, Ron, stop it, right now,» he says, calmly but sternly, holding up a hand. He swings his legs off the sun-bed and sits up on the edge of it, closer to me. «Don't worry about that, okay? Just...You don't have to repay me for this, you don't owe me anything, and you really shouldn't feel guilty. I want to do something nice for you, and luckily I'm in a situation where I can do something like this. This might be a disgusting thing to admit to, but whatever all of this costs – I won't know the difference. Money is one of the few things I have more than enough of. I'm not sacrificing anything by taking you on a trip like this, but hopefully this trip will mean a lot to you. And I get to have lots of fun with my best mate; it's a win-win! So just... Just try not to worry about it, please? You've deserved this, you really have, and I was hoping that you could just accept this as a nice surprise and maybe try to enjoy it as much as you can."  
"But... Why? I mean, why go to all this trouble? Why are you doing all this for me?"  
"Because you have done so much for me, probably a lot more than you can ever imagine. The way you've helped me through my divorce and everything... You're always there for me when I need you. And like I said, I bring nothing but misery into your life. For once I wanted to bring you a lot of happiness and fun, and not be a... burden." He finishes his sentence in a low, awkward mumble, fiddling with his fingers like he often does when he is nervous. Reaching out to him I place a hand on his knee.   
“Richard, that's not true. You bring so many good things into my life, like lots of laughter and fun. I've never had a better mate than you, and I know you're always there for me too. You've never been a burden to me, and you never will be!” I reassure him. He throws me a shy look, then goes back to staring at his hands. “I.. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, because I'm not, this is all just.. overwhelming, I guess. No one has ever done anything like this for me before, and I honestly don't know how to handle it, or what to say. I won't ever be able to thank you enough.”   
“Just... keep being my best mate and don't give up on me.” He shrugs and places his hand over mine, squeezing it gently.  
“I can do that.” I give him an encouraging smile. "I would have done that anyway, thoug. You didn't have to take me all the way to Italy." I squeeze his hand in return, then retract it a little awkwardly, feeling like I've held his hand for far too long already. Richard chuckles quietly, nodding.   
"All right. But now that we're here, we might as well enjoy it? I mean, you're always talking about travelling places, but you never do! When was the last time you went away somewhere, went on holiday?” He challenges.   
“It wasn't that long ago!” I say defensively. “I went to India for a month after I graduated from university.”  
“And when was that, exactly..?” He rasies an eyebrow.  
“2006!” I shoot back, then immediately start counting, realising it might be longer ago than I thought.  
“.. Which was eight years ago!” He shouts, and I am startled to realise that he is right. Eight years? Where the hell had those eight years gone? "Having gone eight years without having a proper holiday makes you more than deserving of a little trip to Italy. Now shut up and drink your beer."


	19. The one in the sun

Richard is already waiting for me in the restaurant the next morning, ready for breakfast.   
“Where have you been? I knocked on your door, you weren't there!” He looks at me curiously.   
“I was just.. out for a little walk,” I shrug evasively.   
“You've been down to the car, haven't you.” He studies me intently, a knowing smirk on his lips.  
“I had to, I had to check on her, see if she was all right,” I admit, causing Richard to laugh loudly.   
“So it's safe to say you like the car, then?”  
“Do you think there is anywhere in the world where marrying a car is legal?”  
“Maybe some states in America,” Richard giggles, looking happy that I am happy. The previous evening we'd just had dinner and gone to bed. I had conked out before my head hit the pillow, and I guessed Richard had done the same, both of us were exhausted from travelling and the lack of sleep. Richard's phone goes off when we're nearly finished with breakfast. I'm immersed in my iPad, reading my email and checking twitter, but can't help listening with half an ear as he talks on the phone.   
“Hello? Jezza, hi!” There is a pause. “Have I seen the sun? Yes, I'm looking at it right now, it's right outside the window!” He says in his typically innocent, cheerful way. There is another pause in which all I can hear what sounds like a rather angry voice on the other end. «Oh, right, the newspaper, no, I haven't seen that, I'm out of the country, actually,» Richard admits. There is a little pause. «You know? How did you know that?» Pause. «Is Ron here? Yes she is – wait a minute, are you around here somewhere?!» Richard looks around theatrically, as if expecting Jezza to turn up in the restaurant. There is a little pause in which he just listens. Then he gestures wildly to me. «Ron. Ron, iPad. Now!» he hisses under his breath, and I quickly hand him the gadget, wondering what's wrong. «Hang on, I'm checking!» He barks impatiently into the phone. After a few moments of tapping at the screen and waiting, his face changes dramatically. His eyes widen, his mouth fall open and he goes pale. «...Oh.» He keeps staring at the screen, unblinkingly, transfixed by whatever he has seen on it. Unable to curb my curiosity I snatch the iPad from the other side of the table, and as I gaze at the screen my mouth falls open. The browser is showing an article in the online version of the Sun. Plastered all across the top is a picture of Richard. And me. Locked in a very tight embrace in what I recognise as the business lounge at Heathrow Airport. The sight knocks the wind right out of me, it hadn't even occurred to me that someone could be taking pictures. Scrolling down there is another image of us, our arms still wrapped around each other, but I'm kissing his cheek now. Rather lovingly too, it seems, my eyes are closed. I quickly scan the brief text of the article; it's all speculations and rumours and plain gossip. Still staring at the image, I manage to keep listening to Richard's conversation with Jezza on the phone. Jezza seems to have asked a question, and Richard shrugs awkwardly. By the answer he gives it sounds like Jeremy has wanted to know why we we'd been hugging in such a public place. «I had just told her we were going to Italy... It was meant to be a surprise, see? I didn't tell her until then, in the airport. She got happy, so she hugged me.» He explains half defensively. Pause. «Why I'm taking her to Italy? Well, I... just wanted to do something nice for her, Jeremy. And she's my best mate, mates go places together, have fun.» He is being completely honest and serious now, no jokes or games. «Yes, I know how this looks, Jeremy, I realise that now...» He mutters into the phone, rubbing his temple exasperatedly. "All right, mate. Thanks for the heads up. Bye." Richard hangs up, and sighs heavily as he rubs both temples with his fingertips, as if he suddenly has a massive headache.  
"Did you read the article?" I ask.  
"No, I just saw the photos." He shakes his head.  
"Apparently we are 'unable to keep our hands off each other' and seem 'head over heels in love'," I announce dryly. Inwardly I give a sad sigh, wishing that was indeed the truth and not just fiction. Richard raises a quizzical, but cheeky eyebrow, then he is unable to stop himself from grinning.   
«Then why are you not all over me right now?» He challenges, and my entire body flushes hot. 'Why aren't I?' I ask myself.  
«I don't know. According to this we should be shagging at this very table right now,» I shoot back, trying to seem just as eager to make a joke of it.   
«That might get people off their breakfast,» he points out.   
«.. While we'd be, in fact, on, our breakfast,» I retort with a sleazy look on my face, pointing down towards the table that has empty dishes, glasses and cups of coffee on it. Richard screws his eyes up and chuckles loudly.  
"I'm glad we can laugh about this, though,” he says when his laughter has subsided. His face goes from merry to apologetic. “Ronja, I'm sorry, I didn't know there would be photographers there, I had no idea. And even so it hadn't crossed my mind that they would.... spin something like that one hug into a story like this and it causing massive headlines.”  
“Oh come on, Richard, you're not that naïve? Don't you remember we had this conversation ages ago, in your kitchen? Around the time you and I became friends and started hanging out together. We talked about this, about how this could, and in all probability would happen. I'm a woman, and you're a man, a famous and recently divorced one. Us being spotted at Heathrow going away together, of course they were going to spin it like this!”  
“I know, you're right. I just didn't... think about how this would look,” he sulks.  
“You and I are close friends, maybe closer than most. They got some lucky photos that makes us look like we're more than that. And people are going to believe it, because people seem unable to think that a man and a woman can be 'just' best friends.” I draw quotation marks in the air around the word 'just'.  
“Give it here, let me see that,” he sighs, gesturing for the iPad, and I hand it over to him. Reading it, he shakes his head. “I'm surprised they didn't follow us on to the bloody plane,” he grumbles.   
“I'm guessing that someone who was on that flight yesterday, or saw us boarding it, will read that today and know we're in Italy. I won't be surprised if this is going to be all over Italian tabloids next,” I point out coldly, taking a sip of my coffee. At this he looks up from the screen, his eyes wide in horror.  
“I didn't even think of that. But you're probably right,” he concedes.  
“Oh well, at least we're prepared for it,” I shrug. The article itself has surprised me, but I don't see the point in being upset or angry about it. We had predicted that it might happen some day, and now it has. Actually I am a little surprised that it hasn't happened sooner. Considering all the time we spend together I find it astonishing that no one has noticed and tipped off the tabloids.  
“You're handling this very well,” he sighs, handing the iPad back to me.   
“Well, I mean.. what can we do about it, really?” I shrug. «But, in light of this, maybe all of those tweets yesterday probably won't help our case...” While driving the previous day, Richard and I had launched into an amicable public argument on Twitter. It all started because he obviously wasn't very happy with the music I was playing on my phone. 'Help. Stuck in a DB9 for 5 days with @Ronja who plays things like 'Crushing Cantelopes'. We had never had a habit of tweeting much at each other, and I had been a little surprised at Richard for doing so, because it was a very public display of our friendship. But he had started it, and I was unable to stop myself from replying in the same cheeky manner. 'Watch it @RichardHammond, or I'll be playing things like Genesis. And it's 'Smashing Pumpkins', you unmusical pillock.' This public, but friendly bickering went on all day, to our mutual amusement. But sitting here now, looking at the article in the Sun, I realise that our tweets just made us look like teenage turtle-doves play-fighting with each other. The worst bit was probably that we had ended the argument by posting a sunny 'selfie' of the both of us by the pool labelled 'temporary ceasefire'. “I mean, in reality it isn't any different to when you tweet with Jezza or some other mate, but to everyone else, who now thinks we're dating, it is going to look like.. something else.”  
“I guess that's what we get for being on things like twitter in the first place...” he mutters, looking exasperated more than anything.  
“I guess there's no use telling your ex-wife we're just friends any more either, huh?” I can't help but smirk at the irony of it all. Richard groans loudly, hiding his face in his hands.   
“Oh god, she's going to be livid,” he says, his voice muffled by his hands.   
“Yep. Glad you're on the other side of the continent now?”  
“Very,” he nods. Sighing heavily he straightens up in his seat. The look he gives me is one full of guilt and regret. I hate seeing him like this, genuinely upset. Once again he's fiddling with his own fingers. “I'm sorry, Ronja... Seems like I've managed to cause you trouble again, even though I brought you here just to have fun.”  
“Okay, this is how it is,” I say determinedly, wanting to reassure Richard in some way. I know he's upset mostly on my behalf, he himself has grown accustomed to being in the tabloids, but he hates the fact that I've been dragged into it as well now. And after what he's done for me, taking me on this amazing trip because he wants to be a good friend, I can't stand him being upset. “First of all, this isn't your fault. I knew the 'risk', that I could end up in the papers with you some day, and I'm not bothered by it. But we have to be prepared for the fact that when we get back to England, everyone is going to think you and I are dating and that we've been on some hot and heavy love holiday together.” As I say this Richard frowns, obviously thinking I'm only making it worse. “But until then, we're here, in Italy, meaning we won't have to deal with all of that just yet. Down here we most likely won't have paparazzis chasing us, so we should just take this opportunity to relax and do what we want. Like you said, as long as we're here, we might as well just try to enjoy it?”  
“Yeah, you're right, Ron..” he nods slowly, looking marginally more cheerful. “I'm just glad you're not bothered by it, because honestly, personally I don't give a toss what people might think. The only way I would have cared was if you or I were married or in a relationship with someone else, because that way a rumour like this could hurt someone. Mindy is going to be cross, but that is her problem. Our friends know that you and I are just mates, and they'll know that this is just the sort of thing a paper like The Sun would write, I guess.”  
“But that won't stop them from heckling us for weeks to come!” We both roll our eyes at the prospect of all the grief we were going to get from the people around us. But for now, we agree to just forget about the article and enjoy where we are. 

The next couple of days fly by a lot faster than I want them to. We drive along the coast under the blazing Italian sun, making numerous stops along the way, to eat or have a cup of coffee, or just stopping some place where we can enjoy the view and the sunshine for a bit. Luckily it seems like the Italian paparazzis aren't out hunting for us, and neither of us can be bothered to check the local tabloids; we're having far too much fun to care about what they might be writing, if anything at all. It turns out that Mindy has indeed read the Sun, and is predictably incredibly cross at her ex-husband for being such a lying sod. He hums and ahas, not even trying to argue with her, he knows there's no use.   
The hotels Richard has booked along the way are just as great at the first, causing me to complain at him for having spent way too much money on this trip. South of Bari, in a town called Puglia, we stay at a hotel that sits right on top of the sheer, seaside cliffs. Its rooms are carved out of the rock in the mountain, with beautiful vaulted brick ceilings, each with its own balcony suspended hundreds of feet above the ocean. Even the hotel restaurant is inside a huge, vaulted limestone cavern, and from our table I can look over the railings and straight out over the Adriatic sea. It is the most spectacular place I have ever had dinner at, or slept in for that matter. After Puglia we leave early and continue our drive along the coast down to Brindisi. So far we had been heading south along the coast, but now we take a turn and headed west, straight across the country to Taranto then north upwards to Napoli. On our fourth day we drive the last leg up to Rome, and I take every detour I can think of, procrastinating as much as I can. I'm even more in love with this car now that I have gotten to drive around in it for four days, it's been an absolute adventure and I'm sad that it's coming to a close. Of course Richard senses this, and about an hour out of Rome he clears his throat.   
“Do you have a dress?”  
“What?” The fact that he suddenly breaks a rather long silence surprises me as much as the question itself. “What do you mean, 'do you have a dress?' Are you asking in a general sort of 'do you own a dress at all?' way or more in the sense of 'is there a dress in your suitcase?'”  
“Um... The latter, actually. But if the answer to the first is a 'no' then the answer to the latter question would be a given, really. Making the question itself rather unnecessary,” he muses.   
“I own several dresses, as a matter of fact,” I sniff. Then I cast him a quick, sidelong suspicious glance before focusing on the road again. “Why?”  
“I know that both you and I are going to be bummed about going home tomorrow. So I put it to you that we, when we get to Rome, in stead of moping about at the hotel, we dress up, go to a poncy restaurant and get unsuitably drunk. But poncy restaurants have dress codes.”  
“You? Bummed? I thought you couldn't wait to get out of this boring car.” It had struck me more than once during all our hours of driving that sitting in the passenger seat like that, for days, must be a tedious thing for someone who would be used to driving himself everywhere. But if he thought so, he has never let it show.  
“Rubbish. I'd take being in an Aston Martin in sunny Italy over... almost anything,” he scoffs. “So, did you pack one?” He presses on.  
“Yes, I did, actually.”  
“Great! Poncy restaurant and going on the piss it is, then!”  
“Yeah, sure,” I nod in agreement, chuckling a little at his child-like eagerness. It wasn't like we'd sat around at the hotel every night this far either, the drives between hotel stops had been short enough for us to do a few other things besides just driving. We'd been out to try and catch some sights, if we had time or the leftover energy. And in those cases where we'd just eaten dinner and turned in, we'd gotten up early the next day to try and at least see something. 

 

My eyes sweep across the hotel lobby as the lift doors open, searching for Richard. He is leaning nonchalantly against a pillar, immersed in his phone, wearing that crisp grey suit that has taken my breath away once before. I draw a deep, nervous breath and exit the lift, wondering if I'm going to slip on this polished marble floor, inexperienced as I am in wearing heels. Despite me walking straight towards him, he doesn't hear the clacking of my heels or see me as I stop a few steps away from him, he's too preoccupied with his phone. My first impulse is to flick his ear or something, but realise that would be rather unladylike and not very classy at all. We were, for once, trying to pass ourselves off as actual adults. In stead I discreetly clear my throat. This causes him to quickly glance up at me, but it is as if he doesn't even recognise me, because he immediately looks down at his phone. Then he does a little double take before hastily straightening up and stuffing his phone unceremoniously into his pocket, clearly distracted. His eyes barely have time to meet mine, they are far too busy trailing down my body, all the way down to my heel-clad shoes and up again.   
“Um, I.. Wow. Ron? I mean, hello,” he jabbers. He seems speechless, awkward, impressed and amazed, all at the same time. It is a strange thing, seeing him fumble like this, and secretly I am enjoying the hell out of it.   
“See? I do own a dress,” I sniff airily, as if I have proven a point and thereby won an argument.  
“I... er, I can see that! And heels, even!” He points stupidly, as if I wasn't aware of the shoes I was wearing.   
“Yes, it's hard to walk around in these without being aware of it,” I mumble with sarcasm. Richard seems unable to do anything but stare at me, let alone say anything. “So... Are we going?” I prompt, his staring is making me awkward and restless.   
“What? Oh, yes, of course.” He gestures to the exit with a wide sweep of his arm, and we head for the revolving doors. Richard had asked the concierge at the hotel about restaurant tips when he had booked us in. The man behind the huge reception desk obviously recognised Richard, and had been more than eager to help us. The best restaurants in Rome were of course notoriously booked up, especially on a Friday night like this, but the concierge must've had some pull because within five minutes we had reservations for two hours later. I had spent those two hours in a frantic state of panic, trying to sort out my hair and put on a little more make up than just the usual two-second mascara application. Thinking about it, I really can't blame Richard for hardly recognising me, as it dawns on me that he has never seen me like this – properly dressed up. Jeans and hiking shoes have been the norm, or pyjama pants. And secretly I like him staring at me, I am hoping he isn't just staring because he's surprised, but also because he likes what he sees. 

Leaving the restaurant we decide to walk back to the hotel. The taxi ride there had been a short one, Richard swore that he knew the way back to the hotel and we were, after all, in Rome, we should take the opportunity to see a little. The restaurant itself had been fabulous, and just as poncy as we had wanted it to be. Neither of us had understood half of what was on the menu and the food was served in such artistic ways we hardly knew how to begin eating it. Walking back we agree that neither of us want to go to bed, so we decide to order some more alcohol from room service and enjoy the view of Rome from the spacious balcony.   
“Ron? What do you want? Wine? Red? White?” He places a hand over the phone as he shouts at me.  
“Cava!” I shout back.   
“..What??”  
“Cava! It's spanish champagne, you ignoramus. Preferably semi-dry.”   
“Here, you talk to him. Because I don't know what you're saying and you're starting to sound like James May.” He holds out the phone to me, and I tell the man from room service what I want. Richard orders wine along with some bottles of sparkling water as well, then hangs up. “I didn't peg you as a wine-ponce,” he mutters, almost looking personally offended.   
“I'm not! I just know the difference between wine, champagne and cava. And I haven't had cava in years and I thought it was about damn bloody time. It's good stuff, you'll like it,” I promise him. With a sigh of content I sit down in the comfortable outdoor sofa. Our rooms are on the top floor, and has spacious balconies with textile roofing and actual sofas, from which we have a great view of the city of Rome. Before long the bottles we ordered are on the table. Richard gives the Cava a try, announces that it 'wasn't awful', but sticks to his red wine. I take a sip from my glass, take in my surroundings and draw a deep breath, leaning my head back a little and closing my eyes. When I open them again, Richard is looking at me a little quizzically. “This is perfect,” I smile. “This balcony, the view, the temperature, my cava... And just being here, with my best mate.”   
“It isn't bad,” he shrugs, as if he doesn't think it's anything special, but I know he's just joking. “So you've had a good time? It hasn't been boring, just driving around all the time?”  
“God no, of course I haven't been bored! This has been an amazing experience, and not just because of that perfect car. But all the great hotels, the good food... everything.”   
“Good,” he smiles.   
“I still feel like I haven't really deserved all of this...” I admit hesitantly.  
“Oh do shut up,” he waves tiredly, and I oblige. I really have tried to do what he asked, which is to just enjoy this trip to the fullest and not feel guilty about whatever this all might cost. And I have mostly succeeded, but twinges of doubt and guilt poke at me now and again. He sighs and looks out over the city, looking thoughtful. “You know, my reasons for bringing you here weren't entirely selfless. I really needed this, to get away for a bit,” he says, mostly to himself. I keep quiet, knowing that Richard has more to say if I just give him time. “This past year has been so.. intense, and chaotic. Finding and buying a new place, moving out, dividing up all our things, the divorce, Jasmine...” Setting down his wineglass he rubs his face with his hands and sighs. “I've wanted to get away for a while now, just to have a breather, leave everything behind, if only for a few days. But I didn't want to go alone, I've felt lonely enough as it is. I thought about asking Jezza or James, or one of my brothers, but they all have.. families or girlfriends and.. Well, to be perfectly honest you were the only one I could picture taking with me. I needed this too, Ron.”  
“I think we both needed this,” I smile.   
“You know, being down here... I haven't felt this much like my old self in over a year.”  
“So you're basically saying that I don't really know the real you? Because the person I've known so far isn't who you really are?” I ask with a smirk, and he chuckles a little.   
“No, I think you know me pretty well. At least I feel like you do. But I have perhaps done things while you have known me, stupid things, and mistakes, because I've been confused or upset. Things that I probably wouldn't have done if I wasn't going through... what I have been going through.” I nodded slowly to show my understanding, but privately my thoughts were racing. What things was he referring to? Him dating Jasmine, or sleeping with his ex-wife? Hardly seeing me while he was busy dating? Or was he talking about things he'd done with me? Always ending up next to me in a bed, sleeping next to me, cuddling me, or that time we kissed? I want to ask him about this, but as ever I am terrified of the answer, of hearing that he thinks of kissing me as a mistake, so I decide against it.  
“I guess, when you've been married for a while, or been in a long relationship... I can imagine it can be hard to find back to yourself, to find out who you are without that other person. You've been with someone else for so long it's hard to see where you end and that person starts. 'What are my thoughts, and what are hers?' I don't know, I haven't had a very long relationship like that, I'm just guessing,” I shrug. But Richards nods thoughtfully.   
“You're completely right, though, I did feel like that. Like I told you once, I just felt completely lost on my own, I didn't know how to think or feel about things any more.”   
“But do you know now?”  
“I'm getting there,” he nods slowly, smiling a little.  
“Good.” I give him an encouraging smile. After the sudden serious turn in our conversation we change topic to something more light-hearted, both of us wants to keep things bright and fun for as long as we can, we're very much aware that we're going back home to reality tomorrow. In a dip in the conversation I make a face and groan, deciding I can't stand these shoes any more.   
“What?”   
“My feet are hating me for forcing them into these shoes. And agreeing to walk back here probably wasn't the best idea either... I was hoping the alcohol would numb the pain but it isn't working,” I complain.   
“Give them here,” Richard says, holding out a hand.  
“What, the shoes?” I frown.   
“No, the feet!” he sighs exasperatedly. Leaning forwards he grabs my legs by the ankles and hoists my bare feet into his lap.   
“No, Richard, you don't have to...” I begin, but he waves me down and starts massaging one of them anyway.   
“Don't worry about it. I'm rather good at this, you know. I used to do this all the time for Mindy, she wasn't too fond of high heels either.” At first I'm tense, half expecting it to tickle, but Richard is good at this, and before long I relax and close my eyes, sighing happily. It is obvious that he has done this before, because he knows exactly where he should massage to relieve sore women's feet.   
“I'll hand it to you, you're not bad at this,” I say after a while when he swaps from one foot to the other. After a thoughtful silence I add: “I hope Mindy appreciated how lucky she was, being married to such a bloody good man.” At this Richard shrugs awkwardly.   
“Can't have been that good, the marriage didn't exactly go brilliantly,” he mutters a little sadly.   
“Oh, Richard... Even though you got divorced, that doesn't make you a bad man. I hope you know that? Because you're not a bad man, not even close,” I reassure him.  
“Thanks,” he mumbles shyly. He falls silent, but keeps rubbing my feet, and I leave him be for a little. But after a while I wonder if he's just sitting there quietly beating himself up for his failed marriage, so I try to get him to talk again.  
“What's on your mind?” I ask lightly, poking him in the tummy with my free foot. His eyes meet mine, and I'm surprised to see that he blinks rapidly as a hint of a blush washes over his face.   
“Honestly, sitting like this, all I can think about is when you said you always go commando,” he admits, looking down my bare legs. He is sitting a lot higher than me, him in a deck chair and me in the low sofa with my legs in his lap. My dress has slid up my thighs a little, revealing over half of them, and I haven't even noticed. I can't help but laugh loudly at this admission, but my insides flush hot. Is this flirting?   
“I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am actually wearing underwear,” I say in a sober tone. But I can't resist the temptation to grab the hem of my dress and hoist it up on one side to reveal a little of the outside of my hip, and with it the black see-through lace hipster I am wearing underneath the dress. I am careful to show as little as possible, just giving him a quick, little glimpse of my knickers.   
“Gee, thanks! That didn't help much!” Richard groans, his face flushing red again. I pull my dress back down to a seemly length.  
“Red wine always gave you the horn,” I snort, taking another sip of my glass. Chuckling a little, Richard shakes his head exasperatedly.  
“And cava gives you a little mean streak,” he shoots back.   
“The bra matches, if you were thinking about that too,” I add matter-of-factly. At this Richard groans even louder, screwing his face up  
“I wasn't thinking about that, actually, funnily enough!” He shouts.   
“But you are now,” I smirk. Leaning forward I snatch his cigarette pack off the table and lit one up. I've tried to cut back on smoking, but right now I need one, if anything just as a means to keep up this façade of boldness. I confidently blow smoke out between my lips. Richard is practically squirming in his seat now, and I am loving it. We've never acted like this before, he's never flirted so directly and I've never teased him in this way.  
“I am thinking about that now, very much,” he nods, half-laughing. “Could we possibly change subject now?” He begs, his voice a little weak.   
“Sure. You brought it up,” I point out innocently. In a desperate attempt to quickly change the topic he asks about which other places I would want to travel to, and that is the end of our flirting for the night. But I can't shake the excited feeling it has given me. Richard has finished rubbing my feet now, but they're still in his lap and he keeps running his palm over my bare foot and ankle absent-mindedly while he talks, which distracts me. Inevitably the bottles become empty, and it is getting late. With a yawn I note that it is nearly 2am, and that it might be time to turn in. Richard agrees, but a little reluctantly. Frankly I could've sat on that balcony all night, just talking to him, drinking champagne, but god knows what I might say or do with more alcohol in my system. Having gotten out of the sofa I pick up my shoes and head inside. Richard follows right behind me and closes the balcony door. Feeling like I have to say something, I stop in the middle of the room and turn around to face him. “Listen, I just need to... Thank you for everything, I've had a great night, the restaurant was fantastic and to be honest I probably could've sat out there on that balcony forever. But more importantly I need to thank you for taking me here in the first place, for doing all this for me, and surprising me...” Suddenly, and to my annoyance, I feel how a sour lump swells in my throat as emotions well up in me. “It... It means a lot to me, because no one has ever done anything like this for me, not even close. It's... the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, and I have a hard time knowing how to accept it and show how grateful I am.” I make it through my sentences without crying, but I feel how my eyes tear up a little.   
“You've had a good time, and that's all I care about. I want you to be happy, and have fun, at least for a little bit,” he shrugs.   
“I've had the best time ever,” I smile, take a few steps towards him and wrap my arms around him. I hug him for a long time, just running my hand over his back, needing to feel his warmth and show my gratitude for a little. He slides his hand up my back and buries his fingers in my hair, holding me close. “Thank you so much, Richard.” Unable to stop myself I give him a long, lingering kiss on the cheek, as close to the corner of his mouth as I dare. The desire to kiss him is a physical, almost painful one, but for the millionth time my courage fails me. Reluctantly I pull away from him, withdraw my arms from around him and take a step back. “Good night, Richard. Sleep tight.”   
“Night night, Ron,” he says with a melancholic smile. I turn on my bare feet and head for the door. Just as I turn the handle I hear his voice from behind me.   
“Ron? ... Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”   
“No, you didn't actually,” I say, unable to hide the blush creeping up my neck.  
“Well, you do. You're gorgeous,” he says with a shrug, as if apologising for not having said this earlier.   
“Thanks. You look pretty handsome yourself. I've always loved that suit on you.” The blush is definitely visible on me now. “Anyway. Night, Richard.” I tear open the door and leave the room, mostly because I am desperate to hide my flustered face.


	20. The one at the summer party

Three weeks after we came back from Italy, it was time for the annual Top Gear summer party. It was often held in late May, before everyone either buggered off on summer holidays or they started airing a new season, depending on the scheduling cycle. Sometimes the “spring” seasons were aired early in the year, sometimes it didn't start until may-june, and no one could every figure out just quite why. The fact that I am even invited to this thing comes as a surprise, as I haven't had anything to do with Top Gear since I went to Africa with them. And now that I am, I can't stop worrying about how the party will go, considering our appearance in the Sun a few weeks back. Coming back to England both of us had had to endure taunts and jeers from everyone, just as we had predicted. But Richard and I had barely seen each other since then, we'd both been busy working, and whatever mocking we had received came from our respective friends and co-workers. What would happen when we were actually seen together at a big party like this? How big of a deal were people going to make of this? Knowing the guys from the crew, not to mention Jezza and James, a lot was the answer. So far I had been able to deal with the questions and knowing smirks on my own, but I had no idea how I handle it when it came from the Top Gear guys. Maybe it would be best to just try and avoid Richard for most of the evening, at least as much as I politely can. If I am to be seen constantly attached to his hip it will just make everything worse, I conclude. But the thought of going to this party and having to stay out of Richard's way isn't a nice one. There will be hundreds and hundreds of people there, from the BBC and show-business, the car industry, media publishers, the lot, and I am painfully aware that I only know a tiny percentage of these people. My acquaintances are limited to the people in the crew and production staff, and the three hosts. But I still wanted to go, just for the opportunity of going to such a big party and getting dressed up again. The party itself was held at a huge hotel in London, and as soon as I got the invitation I decided to book myself a hotel room, just for the practicality of it. The thought of staying sober and driving back to Guildford didn't even strike me. This way I would have a hotel room where I could get ready, I could just take an elevator downstairs to the party, and I could wobble upstairs when the drinking caught up with me. I told Richard about my plan in a text the day before the party, and he immediately saw the genius in it and announced he was going to do the same. I realise that this might not be such a good idea, if it got out that we were both staying here that might spark even more rumours and speculations. But then it strikes me juts how paranoid that sounds, and I don't want that, so I decide not to point it out to him.

After two hours of meticulous, rather obsessive pruning I decide that enough is enough. I have washed my make up off two times now to start over again, and I am not going to do it a third time. With this amount of stress and anxiety what I need more than anything is a damn drink. Part of me wonders what I am more nervous about, seeing Richard or seeing everyone else. Italy hadn't been such an great experience just because of the beautiful country and the fantastic car, more than anything it was Richard's company that had made it so perfect. For a few days it had been just the two of us, away from everyone and everything, for a few days I had felt like he'd been all mine, and I hadn't managed to let that feeling go yet. I know that when I enter this party, it will be like it has always been, I'll still be his friend but I'll have to share him with everyone else and the thought is making me sad and bitter. With a sigh I shove my feet into a pair of heels for the second time in a month, which is probably some sad new record, thinking that I doubt there will be any foot rubs at the end of this evening. In the elevator I nervously straighten my new, floor length goddess-dress, feeling very out of character. Wearing a pale pastel-coloured dress in a flowy fabric doesn't feel quite like “me” at all, but the girl in the store had managed to convince me to try something new.

The first one I run into at the party is of course Richard, as if the universe is out to mock my plan from the get-go. For the second time in a month he nearly doesn't recognise me, and is about to walk straight past me when he does a double-take and shouts my name.  
“Ron?”  
“Hm? Oh, hi, yes, it is me,” I say as I spin around to face him. Here I was, half-hoping he was indeed just going to saunter right by without noticing.  
“Wow, you look... Well, wow,” he jabbers.  
“Always the tone of stunned surprise,” I sigh and roll my eyes.  
“Sorry, I'm still not used to seeing you in dresses,” he shrugs apologetically.  
“You don't look awful, yourself,” I add in a neutral tone.  
“Gee, thanks!” He says with a laugh.  
“I just got here, I desperately need a drink,” I explain, taking a step in the direction of the bar, and away from him.  
“Oh, yeah, definitely, go get a drink, I´ll see you later,” he nods. Just as I am about to turn and walk away from him he speaks again. “We're on for hotel breakfast tomorrow, right? 10 am?”  
“Um.. yeah, sure,” I nod hastily. “If I'm alive at that hour.”  
“I'll make sure you are,” he chuckles, then lets me go. Reaching the bar I order myself a cuba libre and a glass of white wine, and nearly down the cuba libre in one go in a desperate ditch to settle my nerves. Unsure if it has really helped, I pick up my wineglass and start meandering around the place, looking for familiar faces. Whenever I run into someone from the crew or the production people, I am greeted with a lot more warmth and enthusiasm than I have expected, and not one of them mentions the article in the Sun or the fact that Richard and I had gone to Italy together. Maybe they've all been told off by Hammond already. Or maybe they know enough about British tabloids to know that what the article said is bollocks. I also run into James and his lovely Emily, who both hugs me and chats to me for far longer than I would have expected. My plan to stay out of Richard's way as much as possible this evening quickly proves to have been a rather unnecessary one. Every time I see him in the next four hours after my arrival at the party, he seems to have a certain slender, beautiful woman attached to him. Or maybe he is attached to her, it's hard to tell, but at any rate they seem to be flirting furiously, making it quite clear that he is indeed free to do whatever he wants and is, whatever the papers might say, in fact not dating a lowly nurse living in Guildford. It seems like wherever I look, there they are, as much as I try to avoid them.  
«Fucks sake!» Upon opening my pack of cigarettes I discover that my last one is broken, and I swear loudly. I crush the packet with one hand and throw it in the bin, grumbling. I had allowed myself to buy a ten-pack for this party, promising myself that I wouldn't smoke all of them. But my efforts to try and avoid Richard, paired with my frustration and jealousy, had forced me out onto the balcony more and more often over the past hours.  
«Here.» An opened cigarette packet suddenly comes into view and is waved in front of me. My eyes track the arm of the person holding the packet, and land on a surprising, but familiar face.  
«Oh.. Hi, Jeremy. Thanks.» I pluck a cigarette out of the packet and light up. I had greeted him briefly earlier, but hadn't had a chance to talk to him after that.  
«Not having a great night, are you?» he observes, sparking up a fag himself.  
«What? Oh... Well, it's not terrible. I just... hardly know anyone here apart from the crew, there are a million people in there...» I wave my cigarette towards the party indoors. «I just feel a little lonely.»  
«Hm, I don't know what's worse, not knowing everyone or having all one million people wanting to talk to you,» he sighs, obviously not having the greatest night himself. I can see how being in his shoes can't be easy either. This party is huge, and the guests are people from the car industry, show business, publishers, authors, journalists, public relations and advert people, and everyone wants to talk to Jeremy. Or one of the other two.  
«I suspect it is equally boring,» I mumble.  
«And I suspect you would've found this party a lot more fun if your mate hadn't been so... preoccupied,» he points out delicately. It is obvious that he has spotted how busy Richard has been this evening, and correctly deduced that it has made me feel rather left out and lonely.  
«Well, what can I say,» I shrug, blowing smoke out between my lips. «My best mate has a penis, sadly, and like most men he tends to let it do the thinking for him.» At this Jeremy cackles his raspy laugh. «At least one of us is getting something,» I add with a shrug, deciding to keep up the act as the best mate.  
«So how was Italy? Did you two have fun?»  
«Oh no, being forced to drive all through Italy in an Aston Martin was my idea of hell.» The ice cold sarcasm causes Jezza to chuckle some more. «No really, it was absolutely amazing. At least for me, I can only speak for myself, I don't know how much fun he had sitting in the passenger seat.»  
«He can't have suffered that much,» he scoffs. «I mean, he was in a fantastic car, being driven around a gorgeous country, on amazing roads. I bet you had some good food and stayed at some nice hotels, too,» he winks.  
«Yeah, we did. I still can't quite believe it happened, that he actually bothered doing all that for me. I'll never be able to repay him for a percentage of it, I owe him... a lot.»  
«I think he saw it as a way of trying to pay you back some of what he owes you.» Jezza points at me with what remains of his cigarette. I frown at him, not following.  
«And why would he owe me anything?»  
«You helped him get through his divorce, Ronja, you got him back on his feet. He never could have done that without you. And he knows that, even if he hasn't told you so.»  
«Hmm..» I mumble, thinking. The way Jeremy is talking now reminds me of a conversation we had in Uganda, and seeing him all sincere and serious is as surprising to me now as it was back then. «At least I didn't end up hurting him, huh?» I finally say, referring to the warnings he had tried to give me back then. He squints, considering me for a moment.  
«But did he hurt you?» He asks cunningly.  
«Only because I let him.» I don't know what possesses me to admit to that, it just falls out of my mouth in the same instant as the thought runs through my head. Jeremy looks at me in stunned surprise. There is a moment of silence in which he ponders his response.  
«I thought you promised you would take care of yourself?» His voice is uncharacteristically mild. Sometimes he can seem very simple and dim, but I can tell from the look on his face that he knows exactly what I am saying now. He knows that I have basically just confessed to having feelings for Richard, and that something has happened between us, that I have gotten too close, and that this, us being just friends, isn't how I want things to be. Before he gets a chance to say anything, or ask questions, I begin talking.  
«He doesn't know, Jeremy. And that's how things are going to stay.» He opens his mouth to say something, to argue, but I cut him off again. «He's all I have, Jeremy. Quite literally. So I'll just have to take him any way I can have him. I won't risk losing him as a mate.» To my surprise, Jeremy shows his palms in a disarming gesture.  
«Okay, all right, I'm not going to say anything. Or argue with you. Now that doesn't mean I agree with you, or how you're handling this. Because I don't. But I'm not arguing with you, I know better than that. Come on, lets at least get you another drink, you obviously need one.”  
“No, Jeremy, I think I'm just gonna go to my hotel room, I've had enough partying for today...” I protest moodily.  
“Rubbish. If you leave now he's just going to wonder where you are and why you left and I am rubbish at thinking up cover-stories on my feet,” he argues back. I pick up on the hidden threat in that statement; if I leave now, Jezza might not lie very well on my behalf.  
“He won't even notice I'm gone,” I pout childishly.  
“Yes, he definitely will. Trust me,” Jeremy says sternly, leaving no room for arguments, and steers me firmly in the direction of the bar. I'm not about to launch into a discussion with this giant of a man, and meekly follow his lead. Sitting down on a barstool he quickly orders up a couple of drinks, and while the bartender is busy mixing them up he says nothing, just looks at me through the corner of his eye. I let my gaze meander across the bar and over the crowds, looking at nothing in particular, until a gap in the crowd opens up to show Richard and that woman laughing loudly, standing closer than ever, his arm resting at the small of her back. With a frustrated sound of disgust I swivel my barstool to the left, removing them from my sight.  
“Jeremy, can't I just go? Please? Why are you so intent on making me stay?” I moan.  
“Because...” he begins slowly, accepting the drinks from the bartender and sliding one towards me. “.. if you are indeed going to just settle for having him in your life in 'whatever way you can', then that is the sort of thing you are going to have to get used to.” At the word 'that' he points in the direction I am resolutely not looking.  
“But-” I begin.  
“And you can't just avoid it all the time, Ronja. You can't avoid him or shy away from him whenever he has a flirt or a girlfriend, because dim as he admittedly may seem, he will eventually pick up on that. And he'll start asking questions.” He draws quotation marks around the term in mid air. My shoulders sag as I sigh heavily and take a moody sip of my drink.  
“Ugh, what am I drinking Jeremy?”  
“Harvey Wallbanger. So there you have it,” he says pointedly, evidently not prepared to drop the topic just yet. “Either get used to that. Or, you know.. Don't,” he adds with a casual shrug.  
“Why did I tell you anything?” I complain.  
“To be honest you didn't really have to tell me much, Ronja, I have sort of guessed it already,” he says, in such a mild-mannered way I am temporarily stunned. Then panic and fear washes over me.  
“What do you mean? Is it that obvious? Do I come across as some soppy love-stricken fool who keeps fawning over him?”  
“No no no, relax, not at all,” he says, showing his palms in a disarming and calming gesture when he sees the despair in me. “But I know that you two spend a lot of time together, Richard has told me that, and how you're always there for him. I can't imagine it being always easy, he's too impulsive sometimes and does a lot of stupid things because of it. And I'm guessing that you're the one who has to hear him complain about it afterwards. Am I right?”  
“Pretty much, yes,” I nod shyly. I don't feel bad for confirming this, it isn't like I am going behind Richard's back and spilling my guts to Jeremy. He already knows how things are, or does a very good job at guessing.  
“To answer your question; no,” he says, as if starting over. “You do not come across as being hopelessly in love, and I am willing to bet that almost everyone thinks you two are best mates and nothing else. But I've paid attention, and I notice things,” he continues sagely. “You are a strong person, Ron, and in so many ways. You're strong-minded, you know what you want, you can hold your own and you're independent. It struck me that someone like you... wouldn't do what you're doing for Richard unless you were in love with him.”  
“Um... Should I say thanks now?” I muse, mostly to myself.  
“You always go the extra mile for him, Ron. If he needs you, you drop everything to help him out. But then again, he does the same thing for you. Just look at that trip to Italy,” he points out, having a swig of his drink. There is a long silence in which I try to stop my head from spinning off my shoulders.  
“I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you of all people,” I mutter.  
“Believe me, love, neither can I.” He graces me with his raspy chuckle. “Anyway, I better go talk to some people, I'm sure there are about a hundred thousand people left who still has something incredibly unimportant things to talk to me about,” he whines as he gets up from his barstool. Once on his feet he pats down his pockets and procures the opened pack of cigarettes from before. “Here, you keep it. I always have two packs on me at parties.” I accept the packet from him.  
“Thanks, Jezza,” I say holding it up. “And for the chat.”  
“Chin up. Have another drink. That's an order!” He barks, pointing at me, then weaves his way through the crowd. My shoulders sag as I sigh audibly, suddenly feeling very lonely again. Needing some way to channel my restlessness I go outside for a cigarette. I have to pass Richard and 'that woman' on the way, close enough for him to easily could have said something to me, but he doesn't, which annoys me as much as anything else. He hasn't spoken to me once this evening since I met him when I arrived, it is almost like he is trying to avoid me. Is he just too caught up in his flirting to have time to talk to his mate, or does he feel bad about something? I smoke furiously as I ponder these things, fully aware of how bitter and jealous I sound within the privacy of my own head. Returning back inside I follow Jezza's order and get myself another drink. Not feeling like I want to sit on display with my loneliness at the bar I meander around the place until I find a chair by an empty table. My plan is to sit here and try to slowly finish my drink, and if nothing interesting happens within the next thirty minutes I am going to call it a night. For a while I absent-mindedly stir my drink while I waste time on my phone, doing menial things like checking the weather forecast and twitter. An unfamiliar voice causes me to look up from the screen.  
“Um, excuse me, hi. Ronja, isn't it?” I stare at the man standing in front of me, trying desperately to recognise him. The dim lighting in this place doesn't make it any easier for me. I know I have seen him before, but cannot for the life of me remember his name.  
“Oh, um, hello,” I say as I straighten up a little, trying my best to smile kindly at him. I want him to know that even if I might not recognise him, that isn't because I can't be bothered. He is tall and lanky, with curly hair and incredibly kind eyes. “I'm sorry, but I have no idea who you are, I just know I've seen you before. I'm terrible with names, and faces. And the fact that my brain is floating around in about five drink's worth of alcohol isn't helping my memory at the moment,” I apologise.  
“That's okay. I'm Liam.” He stretches out a hand in greeting and returns the kind smile. I scramble up from my chair and shake his hand. “I'm a rigging technician in the crew, but I started right before you were finished with your season. I was supposed to come with you guys to Africa, I was at that meeting where you gave everyone the cholera vaccines. But I managed to dislocate my shoulder right before we were leaving and couldn't go,” he explains.  
¨“Oh, right, I do remember that! That we were a man short because of a dislocated shoulder. How did you manage that?” I ask.  
“Well, I have a dog... A rather big.. dog..” he begins with a little smile, almost looking embarrassed. “And well, I was walking her and I wasn't paying attention, and along came a cat...”  
“Ah, I can sort of see where this is going,” I chuckle.  
“Yeah, she noticed the cat and bounded off, yanking me along with her. I fell over and landed in a bad way.”  
“Ouch...” I make a sympathetic face at him. Then I realise that I am still standing, and so is he. “Why are we still standing? You're welcome to sit down, if you want to,” I add quickly, and sink back down into my chair.  
“Oh, thank you,” he says politely and sits down opposite me, placing his beer on the table. “I'm sorry if I impose... It's just that you looked as lonely as I felt,” he says honestly. “And I've always wanted to talk to you.”  
“No, no, you're not imposing, you're right, I am as lonely as I look,” I hasten to reassure him. “I don't even know what I'm doing here, to be honest. I mean, I'm not working with the show any more and the only people I know here are those who worked in the crew when I was in the studio or went to Africa.”  
“I thought you were pretty good friends with Richard Hammond?” He asks. I detect no sort of malice in his voice, just general inquisitiveness.  
“Well.. Yeah, I guess that's true. But you know how it is for those three at these parties, they're pretty busy,” I shrug. “Sorry, I can't stop thinking about that dog of yours. What kind of dog is it? I'm picturing like.. a massive irish wolfhound here.” At this he chuckles a little.  
“No, no, not quite that huge. She's an Alsatian, actually. But she's pretty strong, especially when she sees cats.”  
“Aw, I love Alsatians. Especially the ones with longer coats.”  
“Kira is long-haired, actually. And the fact that one of her ears doesn't stand up properly, but still flops over like it did when she was a puppy makes her incredibly endearing. I swear that floppy ear has been her saving grace more than once when I've felt like killing her,” he muses. “I seem to remember that you have a dog, too? Or am I mistaken?”  
“No no, you're right, I do, I have a labradoodle, Sprocket. He's a scruffy mess, but I love him. He even managed to knock up Richard's labradoodle last year, suddenly we had puppies. Oops.” I roll my eyes innocently and bite my lip, and Liam laughs at this.  
“Amazing how quickly that can happen,” he nods. “So, you're not working with Top Gear any more. What are you up to these days?” Liam asks questions, and he listens well, he seems intelligent and kind and has tonnes of humour. And above all, he seems interested in me. Which is why it is driving me mad that I cannot stop thinking about Richard, and 'that woman'. I see them every now and then as they move through the room, and it always distracts me from whatever Liam and I are talking about. I want to be interested back, because this man seems... Special. There is just something I like about him, some sheltered warmth and goodness. With a sigh I stare into the dredges of the drink Liam had treated me to half an hour ago. I can't do this, I can't sit here and talk to this man, I can't flirt and be interested. Not now, not tonight.  
“Listen, Liam... I am really sorry, but you have met me on a really, really bad day. Well, night,” I begin honestly, looking intently at him across the table. “Please believe me when I say that I would love to talk more with you, get to know you better, but... just not here, not tonight.” I expect him to stiffen, to take this as some sort of rejection and become cold and distant, but he doesn't.  
“If tonight is a bad night, meeting you on a good night must be fantastic,” he smiles, his voice filled with the same mild kindness as ever.  
“I hope I won't disappoint you,” I mumble, feeling a blush creep up my neck. “I hate myself for doing this, and I really don't want to explain why, but right now I just want to go to my hotel room and crawl into bed.”  
“That's okay, you don't have to explain anything. I believe you when you say you're having a bad night, that's enough for me.”  
“For what it's worth, you've made it a bit better,” I smiled shyly. “I was hoping that maybe I could have your phone number? That way I could maybe contact you when I'm having a.. not-so-awful day..” My sentence ends in an awkward mumble. But he just smiles and we swap numbers.  
“Listen, can I walk you out?” Liam asks a little timidly. “This party was really boring before, and now that you're leaving I really don't see the point in sticking around.” Once again he managed to draw out my smile.  
“Yeah, sure.” I stuff my phone into my little purse and we get up from our chairs. As we weave our way through the crowd of people heading for the exit, he walks close to me, I feel small next to him, but in a good kind of way. I feel protected, somehow, stronger for having him walking next to me. Passing the bar I spot Richard again, the woman he's been lugging around all evening is talking to someone else and he isn't taking part in the conversation. As he spots me he stares, there is a hint of a frown on his face as he studies the man walking next to me intently. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second, just long enough to show him that I have seen him, and that he's seeing me. Leaving. With someone. And part of me felt some sort of vindictive pleasure in that. As Liam and I reach the hotel lobby we come to a halt. “How are you getting home?” I ask, suddenly feeling slightly concerned for this man I hardly know.  
“Taking a cab. I live up near Hampstead Heath, Haverstock Hill.”  
“Oh, you do? I love it up there. I used to live in Kentish Town, me and Sprocket have spent our fair share of walks in the Heath,” I smile.  
“Small world, huh,” he smiles back. “Listen, I said earlier that I've wanted to talk to you ever since I first met you, and now I am very glad I did.”  
“Aw, thank you..” I avert my eyes and shuffle my feet, trying to hide another blush. “I am glad you did. Talk to me, that is. I hope I can be better company next time.”  
“Whatever it is that is troubling you... Take care of yourself, Ronja.”  
“I will try..” I nod dutifully, looking at the floor before daring to look into his eyes. There is concern and comfort in those eyes, and I can't believe myself for leaving his company just to crawl up into an empty bed and sulk. I crave his comfort, his warmth and his kindness, but tonight I crave it for all the wrong reasons. It would just be to distract myself from Richard, and that would be the wrong thing to do to Liam. I barely know this man, but I know that I don't want to do him any wrong. “Can... can I have a hug before you go?” The question falls out of my mouth before I can stop myself.  
“Of course.” He takes a step forward and wraps his arms around me, he nearly has to bend down a little to hug me properly. He holds me tightly and I feel the warmth of his cheek and neck against mine, and I run my hand over is back a few times before letting go. “I hope you have a good night, Ronja. Sleep tight.” He gives me one final smile before he turns on his heels and walks out the door. With a lump already growing in my throat I press the button for the lift, and I bite my lip to stop the tears from beginning to flow. Suddenly I am equally upset about having said goodbye to this seemingly wonderful man as I am about Richard. Even more so because Richard was the reason why I couldn't enjoy meeting a nice man and get to know him better. Not only had he ruined my night by being an insufferable, insensitive randy bastard, but now he'd also ruined my meeting other blokes as well. By the time I reach the hotel room the sour lump in my throat is gone, the sadness has been replaced by smouldering anger. The minute I am inside my room I get out of my dress and horrible hold-in stockings and put on a fluffy hotel bathrobe. I open a window and lean out of it while I smoke a cigarette, knowing full well I'm not supposed to, but I'm too drunk and annoyed to care. Not feeling like going to sleep I crawl into bed and turn on the telly, flicking through channels and angrily pass over several channels that show reruns of Top Gear. Eventually I find an episode of House that I can't remember having seen before and settle back to watch it, hoping it will distract me for a while. I am surprised to find that I have almost nodded off when a knock on the door jerks me awake. Or was it the telly? I lie still, listening, until the knock comes again. I frown at the door, half wondering if Liam has decided he wasn't going to be turned down that easily and have hunted out my room number. Most likely it is just someone who has the wrong room. Crawling out of bed I close the bathrobe tighter around me as I head for the door. Finding that the door doesn't have a peephole I realise that the only thing I can do is open it. My mouth falls open when I do and find Richard standing on the other side of it.  
“Hamster...” I mumble stupidly, opening the door a little wider. From his glassy eyes and slightly dopey expression I can tell that he's far drunker than me. “How did you get my room number?” Is my first question, as I am sure that I haven't told him this.  
“Told the bloke that I'd found your phone but didn't have your room number,” he says.  
“Oh... wow.” I raise my eyebrows a little at how easily he admitted to having lied to the concierge just to find me. I am even more astonished at the fact that he seems to be looking past me and into my room, it seems like he's trying to figure out whether I am alone or not, as if he's expecting someone else to be there. “Well you found me. What is it?” He notices the slight edge to my voice and he straightens up, his eyes snapping up to meet mine. He seems to try and pull himself together, to focus and sober up a little.  
“You.. left the party early, and you didn't say anything, or say goodnight, and I just... wanted to check on you, see if you're all right,” he says, trying to sound sensible and sincere. 'Early' was a bit of an exaggeration, it had been nearly 1am by the time I had left. And I found it absurd that he had expected me to say goodnight to him, when he had barely spoken a single word to me all night.  
“Yeah, I'm fine. I just wasn't having fun, hasn't been the best night.” I can hear the distant tone in my own voice, and realise I can't be bothered to hide it.  
“Why not?”  
“I don't know, Richard. Does it matter?” I sigh exasperatedly. He is the last person in the world I want to explain myself to right now. He has seemingly spent all evening flirting his way into this woman's knickers, yet he feels like he has to come by my room just to snoop around and figure out whether I am alone or not? And then he hides it behind pretending to care about how I am.  
“Well, no, I just... I mean, yes, it matters to me,” he hurries to amend. Privately I wonder whatever has happened to his sidekick from before, and as if to answer my question I hear a female voice coming from down the hall. Richard's head whips around in the direction of the noise.  
“Richard? Where are you?” She appears around a corner and spots him in the corridor. “That cava is getting warm, silly,” she giggles, obviously every bit as drunk as he is.  
“I'll be there in a second!” He calls to her, an edge of panic to his voice. That's it, I've had more than enough of this, and I'm far beyond trying to be courteous or pretending to not be annoyed. Just as Richard turns his head again to look at me I slam the door in his face as hard as I can and emphatically lock the door. I remain by the door, holding my breath, waiting for Richard's reaction. Is he going to say something? Knock on the door? Demand an explanation? But after a few seconds all I hear is his footsteps as he walks away. This time I have no chance of stopping the tears that roll down my face, and with a sob I turn away from the door and wallow onto the bed, letting my emotions completely take over. I am utterly lost and confused. What the hell is really going on with Richard and me? We spend time together, sleep cuddled up next to each other in beds, he even kisses me once and says that we're friends, in some ways even more than that. But in what ways? He takes me to Italy, treats me to the time of my life, rubs my feet and tells me how beautiful he thinks I am. Then a few weeks later he barely talks to me at a party because he is too busy chatting up a woman. Yet he seemingly can't stand having the suspicion that I might have invited a man up to my room, and has to come check on me. Anger and frustration mixes with jealousy, sadness and longing, and I lie there in a heap of duvets and bathrobes sobbing until my body runs out of sobs. Exhausted I turn off the telly, take off the bathrobe and crawl into bed properly. I wake at nine, with a headache and a painful, anxious knot in my diaphragm. I remember vaguely having agreed to meet Richard for breakfast, but I can't stand the thought of that. And I know I can't stay here, he'll just knock down my door until I open. In a hurry I pack my things, draw a comb through my hair and remove the make-up from last night that is smudged all over my face. With a bag on my shoulder and my dress wrapped in a bag over my arm I creep through the hallways as quietly as I can, concerned I might run into Richard at any moment. I reach the reception desk downstairs without meeting anyone, I hand the concierge my key-card and check out, then practically run back to the lifts. My car is parked in a underground parking garage beneath the hotel, and the moment I sit down in the driver's seat and lock the door I know I'm home free. Weaving my way out of London, heading for home, I realise that I probably shouldn't be driving just yet, there is no way my blood alcohol level has gone down to zero, but part of me is too desperate to get away from that hotel to care. Once in Guildford I stop by Tess, who has finally gotten her wish and been allowed to look after Sprocket for a day. I avoid her cheerful nature and curious questions by complaining of a hangover, which isn't lying per se, and take Sprocket home. When I close my own front door behind me, another wave of sadness and anxiety washes over me, and the only thing I feel like doing is crawl back into bed. My own bed. I leave my bag on the floor and dump the dress carelessly down next to it, shamble through the house and wallow into bed. For once I even invite Sprocket into it and I nestle up against him, burying my face in his fur. Jeremy is right. Either I have to pull myself together and accept that Richard has flirts and dates and girlfriends. Or I don't. But what does that mean? That I am honest and tell him how I feel? Or that I just pull away from him and decide not to have him in my life? The latter seems like the safer choice, that way I will at least spare myself the humiliation of being rejected. A pling from my phone pulls me out of my preoccupied thoughts.  
'Hi. I thought we were on for breakfast at ten? Where are you? I went by your room. Are you okay? Hamster.' I feel a tiny stab of guilt, but it is quickly replaced with annoyance.  
'I thought you had someone else to eat breakfast with, so I reckoned I wasn't needed. I've gone home.” I am unsure whether I want a response from him or not. I am aware that I am acting like a jealous woman, but in some ways so had he last night. After a few minutes there is a beep issuing from the phone.  
"No, I had breakfast alone. I missed you. Hamster."


	21. The interlude

__  
«Oi Richard! Wake up, mate!» As he snaps out of it, a microphone comes back into focus in front of him. Oh yeah, he is supposed to work, doing voiceovers for the upcoming Top Gear episodes. But he isn't doing a very good job of it, even he himself will freely admit to that. He knows he can be easily distracted even at the best of times, but today he is being worse than ever. And he knows why. It's been a week and a half since the last time he heard from Ronja, and that was by getting a door slammed in his face and then a terse message the next day. After that he hasn't been able to get word one out of her, and it is driving him up the wall. Like so many times before he is scrambling to figure out just exactly why Ronja is mad at him again. If she gets mad at you, you will never doubt for a second that she is, but she is also a master at never making it quite clear why. Richard keeps racking his brain trying to figure out what he might have done. Everything has been great between them since Italy. Things hadn't quite gone to plan, though, he had chickened out for what seemed like the millionth time and once again he hadn't said a single of those things he had meant to. But she couldn't know that? There is just something about Ron that seems so... untouchable, like she has a huge wall around her and he can never be quite sure if he has gotten through it or if it just appears that way. Or if she would even want him to get through it. She is always so quick to push him away, to exclude him from her life. Of course meeting that woman, Donna, at the summer party hadn't helped, Richard was fully aware what a huge mistake that had been. She was a publisher he had met a couple of years ago at some event or other. He had been wildly attracted to her but he was still married then, they had flirted a lot but that was it, nothing else had happened, his marriage was already failing and the risk of losing his wife had made him behave. And now, suddenly she had been there again, and he had found himself divorced and half-drunk, and she had seemed incredibly... willing. He can hear himself as he thinks these thoughts, justifying his behaviour, and flinches a little at how despicable he sounds. When did he become that _bloke? After the divorce, apparently. It wasn't just Donna, it was Jasmine too. And all the slip-ups between him and Mindy that went on long after they were separated. Not that those are his only regrets. Watching Ronja slip out of that party with another bloke seemingly at her heels had flipped a switch inside him. The thought of her going off with some bloke, he couldn't get that out of his mind, he couldn't leave it. He had to know if there was someone in her room or not. He knew he had no right to, that she was free to do whatever she wanted, and with whoever she wanted. But he just hadn't been able to stop himself. Maybe because it felt like her being alone or not was in some weird way linked to how she really felt about_ him _. All right, maybe pretending that he had no idea why Ronja could be angry with him is stretching the truth to breaking point. If he is honest with himself he can come up with a fair few guesses as to why Ronja is angry with him these days, but he just can't be sure which one it is. And that more than anything drives him mad. How can he apologise when she won't even talk to him? And why does it seem like trying to make it right was all he ever did when it came to Ronja? He has no idea why, but it feels like he can never get things right when it comes to her, he constantly messes up and puts his foot in it, and things never turn out the way he plans. For what seems like the hundreth time today he is dragged back down to earth by someone literally screaming his name at him, trying to make contact._ «Hammond!! For fucks sake! Your bloody phone has been going off for ten minutes now, will you fucking pick up?» Richard jerks and hastily mutters apologies as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and heads out of the claustrophobic little voice-over studio. Glancing at the screen he doesn't see a name, nor a familiar number, but at least it is a London area code which makes him less hesitant to pick it up. It could be someone he didn't feel like talking to, but then again you never knew, and right now he had an inexplicable feeling he should really take this one.  
«Hello?» He answers neutrally, careful not to present himself in case this was an over-eager fan or suchlike.  
«Hello? Is this Richard?» A formal-sounding female voice comes through the phone. The fact that she didn't use his surname makes him a little suspicious.  
«Er.. yes?»  
«Do you know a woman by the name of Ronja Sol.. Uh, Solheim?» She asks, struggling a little with the foreign-sounding surname. Suspicion transforms into sheer confusion now.  
«Yes, I do actually. How so?»  
«Listen, do you know if she has any relatives I could contact? Parents, siblings, extended family, here or abroad?» The voice is ever polite and formal, not giving Richard a hint of what this could possibly be about. But his heart rate is speeding up now, fear mounting in him.  
«No, I don't, I mean.. She's from Norway, her mother has passed and the father is unknown, she has some half-siblings but they have never had any contact...» He stutters.  
«Would you say that you would be the closest to her next-of-kin, mister...?»  
«Hammond. And um.. yes, maybe I am, I guess...? I don't know, we're good friends, she doesn't have that many in her... life...» he muttered.  
«Well, mister Hammond, I am sorry but I have some bad news.»


	22. The one with the near-death experience

_Am I dead? It's all dark... What IS that sound? God, it's so annoying. Beep. Beep. Beep. Sounds familiar, though. Like a heart monitor...? So I guess I can't be dead, then. Unless this is one of those out-of-your-body experiences. Jesus, what a cliché. Fuck it, I refuse to have one of those._  
With a monumental effort I force my eyes open, my eyelids feeling leaden. As they adjust to the light, a white ceiling with fluorescent lights swims into view. I try to recap what has happened. I am in a hospital, I know that much. Hell, I work in one of these, the characteristic beeping and the slight hint of disinfectant in the air gave it away pretty quickly. I'm a little amazed that I even know _why_ I'm here. I remember it vivdly, being in a cab, seeing the bus rushing towards me. A bloody **bus**. That moment had felt like an eternity, infinite amounts of time passing by in a microsecond. _Sprocket. Richard. This is going to hurt so fucking much. Why didn't I ever go to Indonesia? Is this really it? Was that all my life was going to be?_ But after those fleeting, never-ending thoughts, everything had gone pitch black. Gingerly I try moving something, anything, an arm, a finger, feeling terrified when nothing feels like it will move even if I try. _Please God, let something move. I don't have a habit of bothering you often, help me out this once._ I breathe a sigh of relief when I feel my thumb twitch against the mattress. Lowering my eyes from the ceiling I slowly scan the parts of the room which I can see from where I am lying. Sink, mirror, door, another door which I presume is for a bathroom. Some awful, depressing mass-produced painting. A flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, a table... As my eyes land on a high-backed armchair in the corner I feel a dull twitch of surprise as someone seems to be sitting in it. At first it is just a blur, a vaguely humanoid shape that seems to be staring into its lap. Squinting I try to bring the person more into focus. After a while I realise it's Richard, which doesn't lessen my surprise much. Just as I come to this realisation, Richard' eyes flick upwards from his iPad, casting a quick glance at me in the bed. His eyes fall to the screen again before he does a massive double take, realising that I am looking back at him. Discarding the iPad haphazardly he bounds out of the chair and make it to my bedside in three huge strides. He doesn't say anything, but tremblingly takes my hand and squeezes it, staring at me intently, obviously waiting for me to do something, anything. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. Instead I squeeze his hand in return and try to smile, but then a searing pain shoots through the left side of my face and I wince. Richard's face breaks out into a wide smile, relief and happiness written across it.  
«Oh god, Ron, thank you... Thank you so much for opening your eyes and smiling at me right now,» he croaks, his voice thick with emotion. He bends down low over me, gently kissing the side of my face that hadn't hurt earlier. Pulling back a little he smiles as he runs his free hand over my hair and the side of my face. “Bloody hell, Ronja... I've been so worried. You scared me so fucking much! Don't do that!” His eyes brim over with tears as he studies me, his lower lip trembling, and that more than anything is what scares me. If Richard is here, and even crying by my bedside, I must be in a bad way. But then again, I was hit by a bus, what else could I expect. Frankly, I hadn't even expected to survive. Quickly Richard wipes his eyes and hitches his smile back on, looking like he is trying to compose himself, to not show his fear and stay strong. «Listen, I have to go see if I can find the nurse, I said I would find her right away if you woke up...» His voice is a little hoarse. _If? What do you mean if? That doesn't sound good. Don't you dare leave!_ When I feel his hold on my hand loosen I redouble my grip, clinging on to him. I feel like I have just emerged from some vast, gaping abyss, and now I am terrified of being left alone, of falling back in. My last thoughts before it all went black was of Richard; believing I would never see him again and now that I was holding his hand I never want to let go. «I promise I won't be long, sweetheart, I'll be right back, okay?» He looks at me intently, pleadingly, and I reluctantly loosen my grip on him, allowing him to go. He disappears from my sight, and my heart rate instantly goes up, fear taking control. I know what has happened, but I don't know how badly I am hurt. Years of experience from emergency rooms and hospitals in general presents me with a seemingly infinite array of possibilities of how bad it can be. Lying here I barely feel connected to my own body, everything feels numb, but hurts at the same time, hurts so much I can't distinguish one pain from the other. I am just about to lose it and go into a massive panic attack when I hear the door open again and multiple sets of footsteps approach me. I feel Richard's comforting hand around mine again, and he smiles reassuringly. On the other side of my bed is a doctor, and behind her a nurse.  
«Hello, Ronja. I'm Rebecca, I'm a doctor,” Her voice is soft and reassuring. «About time you woke up. Know where you are, dear?» Nodding I open my mouth and try to say 'hospital', but it just turns into a croak. «Now, you've been on a ventilator, so your throat is going to be really sore and you won't have much of a voice, I'm afraid. So I don't want you to talk right now, okay, not one word.” I nod obediently, and she smiles kindly. “I was just wondering if you remember what happened?”  
“Crash... bus...” I croak, instantly forgetting myself, but my voice only comes out a whisper, barely audible.  
“What did I say about talking? Nodding would've done the trick.” She sighs a little exasperatedly. I blink a little as a way of apology. “But yes, you're right, you were in a crash, and a pretty bad one at that. You've been out for three days, you were brought in Thursday around midday and now its Sunday afternoon. We kept you sedated for the first 36 hours to let your body rest, and we've gradually taken you off it. You understand?” My mind is reeling as the doctor explains. Three days? Giving me time to let it all sink in, the doctor does a round of quick neurological exams, checking my pupils, telling me to squeeze her hands and touch the tip of my nose.  
“Gee..cee...ess...?” I breathe when she seems to have finished her exam.  
“Ah, I forgot, you're a nurse. You had a GCS of 8 or 9 when you came in, so honestly we were a bit worried, you obviously had sustained a bad knock to the head. Since you're in the same profession as me I'm not going to sugar-coat your injuries to you, all right? Starting at the top you have a four inch skull fracture, and you had quite a few subarachnoidal contusion bleeds, but they have all stopped now. You have a broken cheek-bone and a broken clavicle. Other than that we saw no injuries to your spinal cord, miraculously. You do have four or five costal fractures, though, and, funnily enough, a broken pinky toe. Oh, and your humerus was dislocated, but we got that bugger back where it belongs too,” she adds with a twinkle in her eye, as if to make it all seem less grave.  
“Humerus?” Richard asks the doctor, frowning a little.  
“Shoulder,” I croak.  
“No talking!” They both bark at me in unison.  
“No really, you should rest, don't try to talk. At least not right now, wait until the morning, yeah?” The doctor offer as a compromise. More nodding from me. The nurse that has hovered in the background takes a step forward. “ Hello, Ronja. I'm Alice. I am going to get you some water. Do you have any pains?”  
“Mm... Six...” I squeak. At this Richard' eyes widen and his look flicks quickly from me to doctor and then to the nurse, obviously worried that my incoherent answer is some sign of brain damage. But the nurse just nods her understanding, so does the doctor.  
“She means a six on a pain scale, I reckon,” the doctor explains helpfully. “We often ask patients to place their pain on a scale from one to ten, where ten is the worst imaginable. A six means she's pretty miserable I'm guessing?” She looks at me with her eyebrow raised, and I nod firmly. With every passing second it feels like the pain gets worse and worse, it is evident that the sedation and pain meds are really leaving my body. “All right, I'll run and get you some pain medication and water. Be right back.” The nurse pats my arm gently, then walks out.  
“I'm going to leave you to rest, Ronja. We were worried for a while, but you passed that neurological exam right now with flying colours, which I'm sure you're already aware of. I'll see you tomorrow,” the doctor smiles, and disappears. Richard' grip on my arm loosen and I clamp down on his hand like a vice again.  
“Ron, I'm just going to get a chair, I'll hold your hand for a week if you want, love, I just don't want to stand upright doing it.” There is no trace of annoyance in his voice, just kindness. At this I give him another crooked, apologetic smile and let go of his hand. The nurse returns and offers me a cup with a straw in it. With a shaky and rather uncoordinated hand I raise it to my mouth and have a sip, which is harder than I thought considering half my face is so stiff and swollen it is basically paralysed. I cough and splutter, then wince as pain shoots through my ribs.  
“That didn't go brilliantly...” The nurse mutter with a touch of sarcasm, wiping my chin. She motions to take the cup from me but I pull it towards me, wanting to try again. The second time my throat remembers what it is supposed to do, and the water goes down the right pipe. Richard takes the cup from me this time and sets it down on the night-stand. The nurse busies herself with flushing my peripheral cannula with saline before inserting a syringe with a blank fluid. I give it a quizzical look.  
“Ketogan,” she informs me. I wrinkle my nose, knowing the drug will knock me out stone cold.  
“Oh god... nite nite,” I mumble, my voice a little stronger now that I've had a drink. The nurse chuckles quietly.  
“It most likely will cause that, yeah,” she agrees. “But you need the rest.” She flushes through the cannula again, and before leaving the room she informs Richard he can just press the button if I need anything. Richard has pulled the high-backed arm chair to the edge of the bed and as soon as he sits down in it I stretch out after his hand like a needy child. The effect of the medication hits quickly and I roll my eyes a few times.  
“Wheeee...” I slur, rolling my eyes, feeling how the pain recedes and my head start to spin. I am vaguely aware that somehow I should be more upset, more anxious, more hysterical, but for some reason I'm just not. Maybe it is the drugs they're giving me that is keeping me calm. I've had a massive, horrible accident, one I am perfectly aware that I am incredibly lucky to have even survived. And from what I was told earlier I am going to walk away from it without any sort of lasting injury. I should be hysterical, and I should be ecstatic, but I'm too battered, exhausted and high to be either. “Gooooooood drugs.” I mumble. Despite himself Richard snorts with laughter.  
“Will you shut your gob and go to sleep? It seems like asleep is the only time you are able to shut up,” he barks, but there is nothing but kindness in his eyes. Obediently I nod my head and squeeze his hand, refusing to let it go. He interlaces his fingers with mine, like he has done so many times before, his thumb calmly caressing my hand, again and again. “Go on, close your eyes.... I'll be here when you wake up.” 

With a massive lurch I throw my eyes open and gasp loudly. I awake in a complete haze of terror, sobbing hysterically. Even though every sob makes my entire body hurt I can't stop crying. I am trembling violently, but I realise that I can't move beyond that, completely paralysed by anxiety. I don't even know what I am so afraid of; I know where I am, in a safe place, I know that they have examined me for every possible injury, that there is nothing life-threateningly wrong with me and that I am being cared for and looked after. All of these logical thoughts flit through my head, rushing to my aid, but none of them work, I am still scared out of my wits and I can't tell why. My anxiety is all-consuming, so much that at first I don't even realise that Richard is there, by my bedside. He has pulled a chair as close to the bed as possible, and in an effort to try and wring me out of my panic and get through to me he squeezes my hand harder and leans over me, placing his cheek against the good side of my face, hugging me gently.  
“Ronja, ssh, everything is all right. You're safe, love, I'm here. It's okay, everything is all right... Does something hurt? Is something wrong? Should I call the nurse?” Fear and frustration is etched in his voice as he asks, he desperately wants to help, to make it better. He pulls away slightly to look at me. I shake my head frantically, clinging on to his hand, the only thing I need right now is for him to stay close. And then, on top of the overwhelming fear I am experiencing, I am hit by a massive wave of guilt. I feel bad for crying so hysterically, for not knowing why and for not being able to stop myself. I feel bad for having gotten myself in that crash, even though I can't remember or deduce whether it could have been my fault or not, and I feel bad for having made Richard so scared and worried. I even feel bad that I am keeping him here in the hospital, when he has work and his own life to live.  
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I'm sorry....” I sob, over and over again.  
“Sssssssh, Ronja, stop saying that, stop being silly,” he soothes. Through my hysteria I vaguely register that he gives my forehead a lingering kiss. “You haven't done anything wrong, you don't have anything to apologise for, sweetheart.. It's all right...” Richard' hand is on mine, his thumb is caressing the back of my hand, his warm cheek is against mine, I can even smell him. All of this along with his constant stream of mild, reassuring words eventually manage to calm me down. He sits there for god knows how long, awkwardly bending over me, hugging me and holding my hand. If his back is struggling he never shows even a hint, and he remains there until I drop off to sleep again, completely exhausted by my own panic attack.


	23. The one in recovery

Opening my eyes I immediately close them again, squinting against the harsh light. As my eyes adjust to the brightness, the hospital room swims into view. Scanning the room from right to left I see windows, the chair that is now empty, that ugly painting again... Then I notice a hospital bed next to mine that hadn't been there before. Or maybe it had and I was just too groggy to have noticed. Richard is sitting in it, adjustable back raised up as far as it will go, deeply immersed in his laptop, sometimes tapping away at it. I lay there looking quietly at him for a long time, just getting used to being awake again, feeling like I haven't been awake in years. With a casual sideways glance he notices that I am looking at him. Immediately he slams his laptop shut and swings his legs off the bed.  
“Good morning! Well, more like good afternoon.” Richard smiles, but I can still see the concern behind it.  
“Hey, you...” I smile back, glad to hear that my voice is a little stronger. Taking the cup off the night-stand he fills it with cold water and proffer it to me. I drink gingerly at first, but then empty the cup and hand it back to him. “Thanks...” Sinking down into the armchair, Richard take my hand again.  
“So... How are you feeling?”  
“Like I was hit by a bus...” I mutter. Talking is still much more of an effort than I am used to, slow and a little painful. Richard chuckles quietly, rolls his eyes and shakes his head.  
“You look like it, too,” he smirks. I let out a snort of laughter which I immediately regret as pain shoots through my ribs and head.  
“Thanks, knob-head. You don't look so spiffy yourself...” I retort. He looks exhausted and pale, with dark rings under his big, beautiful eyes.  
“Well... I have to admit, it's been a long few days,” he admits with a sigh, giving me a sad smile. “Having been on both sides of it now, I must admit I much preferred being the one unconscious in the bed. I've been sick with worry.”  
“Have you been here the whole time?”  
“Um, well, nearly....” It almost sounds like he's apologising for not having been here constantly. “I nipped to the flat once, got a change of clothes, sorted out a few things, got Kristin to watch the dogs... After the first night the nurses took pity on me and got me a bed.”  
“Oh god, Sprocket!” I exclaim, almost flailing in the bed as I suddenly remember that I had left my dog at home, four days ago.  
“Ah ah, relax, he's fine, he's being taken care of. I got your keys, got someone to drive him out to Kristin's, he's there with the others.” Richard practically pins me down on the bed as he explains this.  
“Oh, thank god... Good, thank you... And thank you for staying.” I relax and give him my crooked smile. “How did they even know to call you?» I frown as the question pops into my head.  
«I don't know, really, I guess they checked your phone, called the person you last called or texted or.. something,» he shrugs, obviously not having thought about this himself.  
“I'm.. I'm sorry about last night, about being all.. hysterical...” I mumble, feeling almost ashamed.  
“Hey, no no no, don't say that, don't say sorry, you don't have to... Did you dream something?”  
“No, not that I can remember. I was just.. afraid. Terrified.”  
“You were sleeping very uneasily for a while before you woke up, I thought you were dreaming...” He explains.  
“If I was, I can't remember it,” I shrug.  
“It's only natural I guess, having some sort of reaction after what you've been through,” he muses. “I had a lot of them.” A silence falls between us in which Richard just caresses my hand, he seems to have been doing this constantly every since I regained consciousness, as if he can't get enough of my skin beneath his fingers.  
“Richard?”  
“Mm?” He hums, looking at me with his kind, warm eyes. I open my mouth to ask a question that had flitted through my mind the previous night, and I am surprised to find that I can't speak a word of this question without immediately starting to cry. My lower lip wobbles and my voice shakes as I speak.  
“Died anyone died? In the accident? What really happened? I'm not s-s-sure, I don't know, I can't remember...” He squeezes my hand, trying to soothe me and calm me down.  
“The bus-driver ran a red light, according to witnesses. We probably won't ever know why, the driver... he didn't make it, nor did the cabbie driving you. Luckily the bus wasn't in service, so no one else got hurt.”  
“Oh god, they both died!?” I warble. He just nods his head slowly. Unblinkingly I stare into his eyes, needing the warmth and reassurance they provide. "Know do you get why I was so scared? So worried about you?" Without letting go of my hand Richard gets out of his chair and bends low over me, placing his cheek against mine once again in a gentle, almost timid hug. I desperately want to hug him back, hug him properly, but I can't lying here in this bed. Suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to get out of bed, or at least sit up, I am stiff and sore and it feels like I have been lying here for months. Letting go of Richard's hand I plant the elbow on my good side in the mattress and try to get up. The strain hurts like hell, my broken ribs and just about everything else protest wildly at the sudden strain.  
“What are you doing? Should you be doing that? Shouldn't you lie still?” Richard frets, wringing his hands and looking worried.  
“I've been lying still for four days! Stop jabbering and help?” I grumble. Tentatively Richard slips an arm around my back, trying to help me sit up. He is barely touching me, obviously terrified of breaking me more than I already am.  
“Shouldn't a nurse be doing this? I don't know anything about moving... you...” He gabbles nervously.  
“I am a nurse!” I bark. With his help I finally make it upright. Everything aches, but it feels nice to just be vertical for a change, at least partly. Then a massive wave of vertigo hits me and I grab hold of the sheets to steady myself. “Uh-oh, blood pressure drop.”  
“Lie back down again, will you? Ronja, you're white as a sheet. Well, half of you is black and blue, but-”  
“Gimme a minute.” I breathe deeply. I have seen this in many patients who has been in bed for a few days, patients just out of surgery or who has been in accidents. Most of them experiences a wave of nausea and dizziness as their blood pressure doesn't adjust quickly enough to the fact that they have gotten out of bed. I feel woozy and unsteady, and with his arm still around me, Richard sits down on the edge of my bed, acting as a lean-to. I use him for support, resting my head on his shoulder for a while, closing my eyes to stop my head from spinning. “Thanks. I just.. had to sit up.”  
“It's okay,» he says mildly, giving my temple a kiss and caressing my upper arm. For a while he just sits there, letting me find my balance and get used to sitting upright again. «Does it hurt?»  
«Like a bitch.» He gives a little snort of laughter, but he quickly turns serious again. As gently as possible he wraps his arms around me and buries his face into the nook of my neck, nuzzling my skin, breathing deeply. I wrap my one arm around him as best I can, clinging to him, dearly having missed being close to him. To my surprise a few muffled sobs escape Richard, and his shoulders shake a little.  
“I've never been so.. so scared in my.. I though you were... were slipping away from me...” he sobs incoherently. I can feel the wetness of his tears on my skin, the heat radiating from him just from being upset. Now it's my turn to hush and comfort.  
“Ssh, Richard, it's all right, everything is going to be all right...” I crooned into his ear, his face still buried against my neck. “I have a few bumps and bruises, and a few fractures, but I'm alive, love. Okay?” I placed my hand on the back of his neck, squeezed it a little to try and snap him out of what seemed to be turning into a little panic attack. He looks up at me, all the terror and ache he has felt over the last couple of days were visible in those eyes. I cup his face in my hand and lean towards him, my forehead almost touching his. Then I give him a reassuring, but crooked smile, looking into his eyes all the while. “I'm here, love. I'm alive and everything is going to be just fine,” I repeat. Richard closes his eyes for a moment, as if he is grateful. When he opens them again he leans closer and places his lips light and gracefully against mine, but mostly on the side of my face that isn't bruised and swollen. While he kisses me he runs his fingertip lightly over the back of my neck, just beneath my hair, and it causes goosebumps to spread all over. Pulling away he is still smiling at me, and some of the ache I had seen in them earlier seem to have lessened. What I want to do most of all is ask what that kiss just now had meant, but I doubt right now that even he knew the answer to that. It could wait a little, until we were both a bit more balanced. All I care about right now is that I'm not alone, I have Richard here and that is the only thing that matters.  
“Ron? What were you doing in London?”  
“Hm? Oh, I was on my way to a job interview...” I explain, having to think for a moment to remember my purpose in the city.  
“Job interview?”  
“Yeah. Intensive care unit. I guess I blew that job opportunity, though,” I mumble sarcastically. “Okay, that's enough sitting for now,” I announce weakly, and Richard helps me to lie backward in a somewhat controlled fashion. The pain has just become too much again. A nurse sorts me out with more painkillers. Together we come up with a plan of maybe getting me out of bed later in the day and possibly even get me into a shower, or at least get me cleaned up a little when the meds have kicked in. Richard offers to go over to my house and get me some clothes and things. I hate the thought of him being gone for nearly three hours, and to send him on such a long drive just to get some clothes, but he insists.

When Richard returns later that afternoon I feel like a new person. Sitting up in bed, supported by a mountain of pillows, I smile widely at him as he walks through the door. Depositing a bag full of my clothes he returns the smile.  
“Look at you!” He exclaims.  
“I've been out of bed!” I announce proudly. “With the help of two people, though. And a walker. But I've had a shower! And I no longer have to pee in a bag! And now I'm absolutely exhausted.”  
“But you look all the better for it! I'm proud of you.”  
“For standing on my feet and having a wash?” I snort.  
“A couple of days ago I was worried you'd never open your eyes again! Standing on your feet is massive!” He argues. “Anyway. I remember what hospital food can be like so I bought crisps, curly wurlies, toffee popcorn...”  
“Oh, so now that I've survived being hit by a bus you're going to kill me with diabetes and arterial plaque?”  
“Arterial.. what?”  
“Oh shut up and give me the crisps.” The rest of the afternoon passes with me dozing on and off. My trip out of bed and into the shower, even though heavily assisted by a nurse, have really taken it out of me. The exhaustion and movement increases my pain, and between the effort and the constant supply of painkillers I have a hard time keeping awake for long. I also know that I'm tired from the head injuries, my head hurts constantly, and I whenever I'm awake and trying to talk to Richard I lose focus very quickly, just being awake exhaust me. Even so, in between my naps, Richard and I have short, hushed conversations, just talking about everything and nothing. When I awake again it is dark outside, the room is dimly lit by just an overhead lamp above Richard's bed. I know I've slept through the last medicine round for the night, a little medicine cup is on my night stand next to a glass of water. My heart is beating hard in my chest, I feel restless and anxious. Not as bad as the previous night, but the feeling of dread is definitely back. Propping myself clumsily on one elbow I grab the medicine cup, down the pills and try to have a sip of water, not quite managing without spilling a little.  
“You know, you could ask for help,” says a quiet, somewhat resigned voice next to me. Richard is sitting on the edge of his bed in his pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, studying me.  
“I thought you were asleep...” I mumble.  
“Rubbish, you saw me reading,” he smirks back. “Did you dream again? You were tossing and turning.” He gets up from his bed and walks over to mine, sitting down on the edge of it.  
“No, I don't dream... At least I can't remember it. I just wake up all.. anxious,” I shrug, momentarily forgetting that I have only one working shoulder. He runs a hand over my hair consolingly.  
“It's just... your brain trying to process everything that's happened, I'm sure it'll get better.” I make a non-committal jerk of the head, knowing he is most likely right.  
“Could you... stay here with me?” I ask timidly. He eyes the width of the bed a little sceptically.  
“Well, we managed to share that camper cot in Uganda so this shouldn't be a problem,” he says bracingly, and I chuckle. He was right, that camper cot was a lot narrower than this bed. Hampered by my injuries I inch over as best I can to give him room. He gently slides his arm under my neck and tries his best to manoeuvre himself into place without hurting me. I come to rest along his side, my leg over his and my head on his chest. My injured shoulder and painful arm is supported by a thin pillow lying across his stomach. When we are both somewhat comfortable Richard pulls up the bed-rail on his side, obviously having been in a hospital bed before.  
“You know, if both of these bed-rails weren't up I'm pretty sure we'd just fall out on either side of the bed,” he points out with a smirk.  
“I know, they're quite handy right now,” I admit.  
“They are,” he agrees. “Ron, I'm sorry, but.. have to leave for a while tomorrow. It's a prep-meeting up at BBC, preparing for the studio shoot, quick manuscript read-through and so on-”  
“I know, I know,” I say mildly, being perfectly aware of what prep-meetings were.  
“It'll just be a couple of hours, the BBC isn't far from here,” he reassures me.  
“I know,” I smile at him. “I'll be just fine, I suspect the nurses here will keep me occupied with chasing me out of bed and making me do things. You go do your job.” He sighs, displaying his reluctance to leave me.  
“Are you okay? Not uncomfortable?”  
“No, I'm fine,” I assure him. “I feel... safe.”  
“Good. Now get some sleep,” he whispers, and kisses my forehead. I rest my head against his shoulder, feeling his arm wrapped around my back, his hand caressing the small of my back. I needed this, I need the closeness and the warmth. To feel like I'm alive, and feel the warmth of another human being, to hear his breaths and his heart beats. 

 

While it is still dark outside I am gently woken by nurse's gentle touch to my hand. I know before even opening my eyes that it is the 6am rounds, and that she is just here to measure my blood-pressure, pulse and temperature. The reading lamp over Richard's bed is still on, enabling me to see her through the semi-darkness of the room. I wriggle my good hand free and pull up my hospital shirt, offering my upper arm up to her. She quietly and habitually attaches the cuff to my arm and lets the machine do its job while she measures the temperature in my ear. Richard doesn't stir at any of this. When the machine has confirmed that my blood pressure is relatively normal, the nurse goes on to manually count my pulse. She looks at me while feeling my wrist, and I give her an apologetic shrug.  
“Sorry...” I breathe, gesturing vaguely to the fact that I have a man in my hospital bed. But she just waves her hand at me once.  
“No need. That looks quite nice, actually,” she whispers back, smiles knowingly, winks once and is out the door. I can't help but smile at having this nurse's blessing to have him in my bed. 

The following day turns out the way I predicted it to, the nurses keep me busy by prodding me with needles, stuffing me with pills, chasing me out of the bed and forcing me to do things like put on actual clothes. Richard is practically chased out the door by me and the nurses by noon, headed for the BBC. He keeps me, and I suspect himself, entertained by sending me texts regularly, sending me into laughing fits that makes everything hurt.  
 _'You haven't gone off and died while I've been away, have you?'_  
 _'Too soon, Hamster. Too soon...'  
 ____'Story of my life, sadly. They all seem to say that :/ '  
 ____'No wonder you got divorced.'  
 ____'Oh go get hit by a bus – Oh, wait, you did.'  
 ___Between pain medications, the nurses' regime and all the laughing I fall asleep around dinner, despite my best efforts to stay awake. It seems like the harder I try to stay awake, the more difficult it gets. The nurses urge me to rest, to sleep whenever I feel like it, but without Richard here it somehow seems scary, as if I'm afraid I won't wake up again. I don't sleep heavily, because every time someone opens the door to my room I jerk awake. The third time it happens a familiar face peers through the door, a mischievous look on his child-like face.  
“Psst. You alive?”  
“No, I'm dead, because it's the only way I can get some rest around here,” I snap back, but smile at him all the same. He breaks out into a wide, almost insanely happy grin, as if he still can't quite believe that I'm alive. Straightening up he opens the door a little wider, but not completely.  
“There's someone here to see you. I promise they won't stay long, and I've told them to behave and be quiet. They just... refused to go home, they followed me here, there was literally nothing I could do about it. They threatened me, and they're big blokes, well, bigger than me, anyway, and one of them has really ugly teeth and lots of guns,” he jabbers, his lies quickly escalating.  
“Oh shut up, Hammond!” Jeremy swiftly, but easily shoves Richard aside and strides into the room, his long knock-kneed legs making it to my bedside in about two steps. To my bewilderment he's carrying a huge bouquet of flowers and some ludicrous, gaudy teddy bear that has a t-shirt saying 'it's a boy!' on it. Trailing in his wake is James, also carrying flowers, but with a rather more sombre demeanour as if he is visiting my deathbed. Bringing up the rear is Richard, eyeing the other two as if he half expects them to start a brawl and get themselves thrown out of the hospital at any moment. Reaching out to my right I scrabble for the remote control of the bed, and begin raising the back-rest upwards so I can sit. The bed seems to take forever to move, however, and there is an awkward silence as they all wait for me to become upright.  
“Be with you in a moment, talk amongst yourselves,” I mutter, and Jeremy instantly greets this with his raspy laugh, although not as loudly as he usually does. James looks a little put-upon, he doesn't quite know what to do with his hands nor his eyes. Jeremy observantly spots the same, and decides to bring him into the conversation.  
“James, you're a good mechanic, can't you put a turbo-charger on that bed?” He suggests, causing both James and Richard to giggle. By the time they've all finished laughing, I am finally upright.  
“There! Finally! Hello, what a nice surprise!” I try to smile at them, painfully aware that only half my face is working at the moment, the rest is too swollen and bruised. Amazingly James is the first one to approach me, bending low and giving me a gentle hug.  
“I don't know what to say, really,” he mumbles awkwardly.  
“'Hello' works just fine, James.” I give him a reassuring smile.  
“Supposedly flowers are what you're supposed to bring to these sort of things so... here you are.” He half-heartedly waves the flowers at me, then deposits them on my night-stand.  
“Aw, thank you, sweetie,” I croon, genuinely pleased. Maybe not so much at the actual flowesr, but at seeing him, and Jeremy. Knowing that they took the time to come visit me, being aware of how busy they are. James takes a step back, giving Jeremy room. He too folds himself almost in half just to be able to give me a quick hug. He plonks the flowers next to James' bouquet, and hands me the teddy bear.  
“They didn't have any that had 'it's a bus!' on it, but I thought that one was pretty close,” he declares, looking genuinely proud of himself. I look at the stupid teddy and immediately start laughing. Richard buries his face in his hands, groaning with shame.  
“I see what you did there, not bad!” I chuckle. “Do sit down, there are chairs enough for all of you.” Richard quickly sits down in his usual armchair by my bedside, and I am a little surprised when he even wraps his hand around mine in a habitual sort of way. Jeremy and James both pull up a chair, and used as he is of being in charge, Jeremy begins to speak.  
“Listen, I realise you might not be up for visitors, but we were in the neighbourhood, so to speak, and Hammond said you were doing really good...” He babbles like a school-boy trying to talk his way out of a good scolding.  
“Jeremy, it's all right. I'm really very grateful to see you guys, and I mean that.” I try to smile again, but wince as pain shoots through my head. “You'll have to excuse me, but I'm not going to smile at any of you any more today, it's just not fucking worth it.”  
“Honestly, you don't look as bad as I thought,” James pipes up. “Hammond tried to prepare us, telling us how incredibly disgusting and horrible you looked, but for someone who took a bus to the face it's not all bad.”  
“I have not called her disgusting nor horrible looking!” Richard argues hotly, the hamster firing up. “I just said she was a bit.. banged up...”  
“I think your exact words were 'think Two-Face from Batman',” Jeremy says with an evil chuckle.  
“Oh do shut up, Two-Face was scarred by acid. I got hit by a bus, much more hard core,” I retort, and they all hum their agreement.  
“I couldn't believe it when Hammond called, saying you were in that accident,” James mumbles. “I saw it on the news, I remember thinking that no one could've survived that.”  
“It was on the news?” I frown.  
“Yeah, you managed to shut down downtown London traffic for a while there,” Jeremy informs me. “Honestly I am amazed you survived as well, considering how the car looked.”  
“You saw the car?” I raise the only working eyebrow at Jezza.  
“Yeah, there was a picture of it in some paper or other. I gather you haven't seen it?”  
“Um, no, I didn't even realise I made the news,” I admit.  
“Well if taking on a London bus and winning doesn't get you a spot on the evening news, what would?” Richard asks.  
“Would you want to see it? I'm sure I can try to find it...” Jeremy asks in a delicate sort of way, fully aware that this might be a touchy subject for me.  
“Honestly I don't know. Can't you find it and.. send it to Richard or something? Maybe I'll gather up the strength to see it some day.”  
“Sure,” Jeremy nods, pulling the phone out of his jacket pocket and beginning to search. I glance quickly over at Richard, somehow needing to look at him for a little support, and he squeezes my hand reassuringly. From what James says next I suspect that this didn't pass him by.  
“You two are a pretty good match, you both seem to have a penchant for surviving the impossible,” he remarks dryly. He tries to look neutral, but there is a trace of a spark in his eyes. A slightly awkward, but heavy silence follows this, until Jeremy clears his throat and starts asking about my actual injuries. They only stay for another half hour before Richard gently, but firmly shoos them out the door. Before Richard even has time to sit back down, however, a nurse comes bustling in, determined to shoo me out of bed and chase me around the room for the last time today. Stubbornly I fight my own way onto the edge of the bed. Richard has a hard time sitting still, he is aching to help me out, but I won't let him. It feels humiliating, needing a walker to be able to move around, but I still feel unsteady and know that blood pressure drops can hit me at any time. I am meant to rest my lower arms on this thing and hold handles, I can lean my weight on it and use it for balance when I move around as it has wheels. Crutches won't be an option for later, not with this bad shoulder and clavicle, so I know I will have to let go of the walker tomorrow if I'm ever going to be let out of here. The nurse watches me with eagle-eyes as I hobble around the room, looking for any sign that I might be going faint. After a few laps she herds me into the bathroom so I can get ready for bed. She follows me back to the bed and helps me sit down on the edge of it.  
“I think you can manage the rest on your own now. But call me if you need help,” she smiles kindly, then exits the room. Richard bounds out of his chair to offer help, but I keep him at an arm's distance, determined to manage to get back into bed on my own as well.  
“God, I never knew not helping could be this exhausting,” he complains with a sigh, resting back in his chair when he sees that I'm comfortably resting in bed.  
“Have you talked to Kristin today? How are the dogs?”  
“Oh they're fine, having a blast,” he waves carelessly. “They got into the chicken coop yesterday.”  
“Oh noooo, those poor hens! Don't say they killed any?”  
“No, they tried roughing one up, but then the er... rooster came and scared the hell out of them, they ran away with their tails between their legs.”  
“Good.” I draw a sigh of relief.  
“She's mostly worried about you, you know how she is, fussing..”  
“Fussing,” I say at the same time as Richard. “Tell her I'll be right as rain.” My words are already slurring a little, I know I'm dropping off to sleep. I can vaguely hear Richard as he rummages through his own overnight bag, trying to be quiet, then he shuffles off to the bathroom. When I awake again it is with the same jerk as before, and when I open my eyes Richard is already by my bedside in his pyjamas, studying me. “Was I tossing and turning again?”  
“A little,” he whispers, smiling mildly as he runs a hand over my forehead, brushing away some hairs. “Move over.” In a cumbersome way I manage to inch over, giving him room, and having learned from last night we manage to manoeuvre ourselves into place a lot easier. He sighs as he wraps his arm around me, holding me as gently as he can not to inflict any pain, and for a moment he buries his face in my hair. “I hope it was okay I brought the guys here..”  
“Of course it was, Richard. It was very touching that they came, I know they're all busy. And I know you're busy, too, and for some reason you're here all the time.”  
“They offered to come, they wanted to see you, they were worried about you too. And they know I care a lot about you, and that if you went off and died or something that would make me a bit upset. So they're glad you're all right.”  
“It was very sweet of them. I love the teddy-bear,” I giggle.  
“God, Jeremy is such a blithering idiot,” Richard huffs.  
“Nah, he's funny, his just a big cuddly bear. He can seem both scary and a little dim, but he isn't.” There is a little silence in which I nearly have enough time to drop off to sleep again. Then Richard's voice pulls me back.  
“Ron... I think I might have to leave in the morning. Studio recording day...” he begins apologetically.  
“Oh, of course you have to, its your job,” I insist, thoroughly ignoring how my heart is sinking in my chest.. “It must be really boring sitting here anyway, all I do is sleep!”  
“Yeah, I know it's my job, but...” he mumbles.  
“No 'buts'. You're not postponing a studio shoot because of me, that isn't happening. What was the point in going to that meeting today if you're not doing the shoot tomorrow?” I argue back, but a little drowsily.  
“I know, I know!” He grumbles, not being able to come up with an argument that will stick.  
“So go, do your job, be a good boy, be a funny man on telly, I like that bloke,” I murmur as I pat his chest, already half asleep again. I can just catch him whisper 'all right, I will' a little sulkily, then I'm out like a light.


	24. The one where everything explodes.

Richard leaves early and quietly the next morning. Still half-asleep I barely catch his whispered 'bye, go back to sleep' and his quick kiss on my forehead. With Richard gone I feel more anxious, I don't feel like I ever fall properly back to sleep, and I don't rest the same way I did when he was there. The anxiety along with the pain and the boredom makes me restless, and I force the nurses to help me out of bed and for little walks across the floor several times that day. The little excursions are always followed by a wave of agony and exhaustion, but I refuse to ask for more painkillers, knowing that the longer I need them, the longer they will keep me in the hospital. I am just about to doze off, the pain after my last walk finally receding enough to let me relax a little, when the sound of the door opening bring me back to reality. I am surprised when Richard walks in.   
“Hello! James and Jezza say 'hello' and 'feel better soon' and asks what was the point of being hit by a bus, they forgot to ask you about that yesterday apparently,” he says cheerfully.   
“Richard... You're here?” I croak, unable to hide my surprise.   
“Yeees... Shouldn't I be?” He frowns.   
“No, I thought you would've.. gone home.”  
“Why would I do that?” Richard looks nonplussed as he sits down on the edge of his hospital bed, depositing an overnight bag next to him.  
“You said... you were leaving, and I thought you were leaving leaving. I thought that with a really long studio day and everything you would've wanted to go home...”  
“When I said 'leaving' I didn't mean like that. Why would you think I'd want to go home?”   
“Well, like I said... You must be sick of being cooped up in here with me, Richard, you've been here for what, five days now? Six? I just sleep all the time anyway, it must be driving you starkers.”  
“No, I'm fine, I'm not sick of it,” he says flatly, almost childishly.   
«Richard, I hate to... to be a burden, I don't want to be that. I don't want to be a bother, I've already done enough by getting myself into this. I... know I scared you and made you worried. And I really appreciate that you've been here for me, but..”  
“Scared? Worried? That doesn't even begin to cover it, Ronja. For three days I sat here, wondering if I was sitting here on your deathbed or not! I wasn't worried, I was fucking petrified out of my skull!»  
“Richard, I'll be fine,” I reassure him. “I just have a few broken bones, they'll heal soon enough and I'll be right as rain. You don't have to be here with me, I hope you don't feel like you do? Like you're obligated or something? I mean, I'm not your responsibility, you shouldn't have to waste your time sitting here, you're not family, or my husband or...” Something, maybe his patience, seems to snap in Richard.  
“You once called me the closest you have to any family, Ron! And I'm here, and even if I'm not family, I still worry about you as if you were! I still care!”   
“Oh come on, Richard, you don't have to worry about me! You must have so much more interesting things to do than sitting here watching my bruises slowly turning from purple to yellow! You have work to do, lots of work I'm guessing, you have the recordings, and writing, and the dogs to take care of...”  
“But... Who will care of you?” He challenges.  
“I can take care of myself? And I have the nurses here to help me... I'll be just fine,” I say stubbornly.  
“Oh for gods sake!” Richard barks, getting up from the bed in an act of frustration. “Of course I know you can take care of yourself, that's all you bloody do, isn't it? You can deal with everything on your bloody own, can't you, but that doesn't mean you don't always have to! Would it be so awful to accept some fucking help once in a while? I mean... You were there for me when I was in the hospital? When I busted my nose? Why can't I be here for you?»  
“Yes, but... that was my job, I was at work,» I argue.  
«So is that the only reason why you were there?» He asks coldly.  
“No, of course not, I didn't mean that...” I stammer incoherently. The anger that suddenly flares up in him shocks me, making me unsure.   
“Then what?” He snarls, almost shaking now, throwing his arms out. I have seen Richard angry more times that I can count, but that has mostly been him pretending, acting his character as the short, angry bloke. This is very different. “You know what? Forget it. If you are this determined to manage everything on your own then fine, what's the point in me being here? I'll just go away and leave you to it.” Turning on his heels he grabs his overnight bag and stomps out of the room. The door slides slowly shut behind him as I listen to his footsteps disappear down the hall. Staring at the now closed door I blink slowly, hardly even realising that I am crying. The worst part is that I don't really know why I have said the things I did. Part of me needs him there, wants his support, but I am terrified of becoming too dependent, of expecting anything from him. I am so scared of finding one day that I really need him, and discover that he isn't there. And I have gotten through things just as bad in the past, I will get through this as well. He said that I didn't have any family – was that why he had insisted on being here? Did he feel obliged to be here, because he knew that I had no one else? I appreciate his concern, but I don't want him to be here just because he feels like he should, because he knows he's the only one I have. I've never had this before, someone who wants to be there for me, I'm not used to it and have no idea how to handle it. I hadn't expected him to take it like that, though. At all. I haven't just frustrated and disappointed him. The thought that I have actually hurt him, on top of everything else I have caused, is too much. After all he has done for me in the past days, what do I do? I practically chase him out of the room, persistent that I can manage on my own. What a fucking awful human being I am. Gasping for air I let the sobs take over. The emotional pain of the regret and guilt I am feeling blends with my physical pain, for a while I can't even distinguish one from the other. Eventually the tears stop, but they are replaced by a desperate need for escape. The accident, everything that hurts and feels wrong with my body, and now this, it is all too much. Like an angel sent from some twisted, backward heaven, a nurse appears, obviously on her 9pm medicine round. She hands me a plastic cup of painkillers, and for once I accept more than eagerly, hoping that they might knock me out. As I hand the now empty medicine cup back to her she looks pointedly around the room.  
“Did your Richard leave? I thought I saw him just now..” Her wording, accidental as it probably is, sends another stab of pain through me.   
“Yeah, I sent him home,” I shrug, trying to be light-hearted about it. “I didn't see the point in him staying here just to... watch me sleep...” As I try to finish my sentence, my voice cracks completely and my eyes burst with tears again.   
“Didn't see the point?” She frowns. She studies me a little before pulling up a chair and sitting down by my bedside. “You know, I was on shift the day they brought you in. I talked for a long while with the nurse who received you when you arrived at the A&E. You were so banged up. She told me you were bleeding from your nostril and even the corner of your eye... You were conscious, but you were making absolutely no sense, between the concussion and the shock you were completely incoherent. They had asked you a hundred questions; could you remember your name, what had happened, did you know where you were, what year it was, what day? Eventually, and for some reason she couldn't really understand, she asked you if there was anyone they should call. You said Richard's name a few times before you lost consciousness. She couldn't answer why she had asked you that, because if you couldn't answer any of the other questions, why would you answer that? But you did.” Finishing her story she got out of her chair. “Now do you see the point of him staying here?” All I can do is nod slowly, my crying rendering me unable to speak. With a sigh she pats my shoulder gently. “Listen, I'll go get you something to calm you down a little. You're too shaken up right now and you need some sleep.”

Three more days is all I can take of the hospital, after that I literally argue my way out of there. I stubbornly stop using the walker, grit my teeth and refuse to take more pain medication than absolutely necessary. I blatantly lie to the doctors, insisting that I have someone to help take care of me when I go home. The hospital is making me restless and depressed, I can't relax, all I want to do is go home. Ironically I have to take a taxi home, and almost immediately I launch into a minor anxiety attack. It hadn't even crossed my mind that being in a car again would now have become something traumatic to me, but it has. God knows what would have happened if the journey was longer than ten minutes.   
I haven't heard anything from Richard, and I haven't tried to contact him, mostly because I wouldn't know what to say if I did. I wouldn't even know how to begin to apologise. As soon as I get home I call Kristin, telling her that I've been discharged from the hospital but ask her if she can keep Sprocket around for a while longer, a week or so at least, as I know that I won't be able to take him for walks for a while. Kind and helpful as ever she says that it isn't a problem, and reassures me that Sprocket is having a lot of fun with his son Pirate. Having dealt with Sprocket, I only have to find a way to deal with myself. Which is harder than I thought. I try to do the exercises the physical therapist has taught me, and as a result I chew twice as many painkillers as I should. In desperation I call Tess that evening and ask her if she could do some grocery shopping for me. I haven't been home for over a week, the bread is mouldy and the milk has gone off and going to the shops on my own is out of the question for another week or so. Seeing the state of me she nearly refuses to leave, but I somehow manage to thank her, pay her for the groceries and chase her out of the house. Going to the bathroom or grabbing a drink takes four times longer than normal, and make me exhausted. But it's better than the hospital, at least I'm in my own bed, I have my telly and endless things on Netflix to keep me occupied.

The day after I came home I hear a distant knock. I reckon it has to be Tess who has come by to check on me, as a nurse I know she will feel compelled to do that.   
«Yeah? Come in!» I shout loudly. I wait for a voice to recognise, but all I hear is the sound of the front door opening, then footsteps in the hallway. “Hello?” To my surprise Richard appears in the doorway, his eyes searching around the living-room. Coming to a halt in the doorway he glares at me angrily, making it evident that he hasn't come here on a hospitality visit.  
«They discharged you?!» He asks disbelievingly, his voice loud and angry. «Don't tell me that was their idea?»   
«No, I...» I begin hesitantly. His sudden appearance and accusatory, angry demeanour takes me off guard. With a few winces I manage to sit up in bed. «I.. convinced them to discharge me, I wanted to go home... To my own bed...» I squirm under his angry gaze.   
“And they sent you home? In the state you're in? Did they ask if you had someone to help you out? Offer home based care or something?”  
“Yeah... And no, they didn't,” I lie, and instantly feel awful for it.  
«And how did you think were you going to manage on your own when you got home?” He challenges. I shrug and shake my head non-committally. Then he eyes the box of pizza I have just taken delivery of. “This was your plan? To sit here all alone and live off take-out?» There is snide sarcasm in his voice. I don't answer, I just stare at the pattern on my bedlinen, feeling like a scolded child. «Jesus. You've told me you feel lonely sometimes, but I'm starting to see why you might be! You're so obsessed on being independent, on managing everything on your own, on being strong and never needing help. You push people away, Ronja, your friends, everyone around you. Most people want to take care of their friends, people need to feel like they're needed, you know? They need to not feel useless. And they just can't do that with you, because you don't need anyone, do you? So they end up leaving.» Finished with his tirade he looks hard at me for a while. I say nothing, just fiddle with my bedlinen, not knowing what to say, unable to muster up a defence. His words have shocked me, made me go numb inside. Is that how people saw me? How he sees me? Then he suddenly sighs, turns around and heads for the door, proving his point.   
«Richard, wait..» I begin. My voice cracks, I am already crying. Richard pauses for a second, his back still towards me. Then he shakes his head, in some final, defiant sort of way, then he disappears. Frozen to the spot I listen as his footsteps walk away from me and the door slams shut behind him. My first instinct is to chase after him, stop him, hold him back, force him to listen, to understand. When I realise that I am probably physically unable to chase after him, no matter how much I want to, I just fall backwards onto the bed, caving in to my emotions. I want him to understand, but what exactly?


	25. The one you've all been waiting for.

My whole body shakes as I knock on the door. A week has passed since Richard came by my house, and quickly marched out again. And for all the time I have had to think between then and now, I realise that I still have no idea exactly what I am going to say to him, even now that I am literally at his doorstep. Predictably my knocking launches a cacophony of dog-barks inside the house. After what seems an eternity, the door swings open, and as Richard's eyes land on me they widen with surprise and his mouth falls open. He looks me up and down, then at my car parked out front, then back at me. I can see the thought process going on in his head, he's wondering if I really drove here, and how I managed to. The dogs are milling around his feet, fighting for space to greet me, but it is as if they know that I'm more fragile than I normally am, because none of them pounce on me like they have a habit of doing. Still not having said a word he takes a step backwards, opening the door wider, letting me in. I close the door behind me, but then it is as if I lose all momentum, I can't move, I can't go any further until I have said something, broken the ice.   
«You're wrong,» I say, with as much confidence as I can muster. «You were wrong when you said that I don't need anybody. I do need someone. I need you! …. I miss you. I miss you so fucking much, Richard, I need you with me, I need a hug from you so badly.... And I care about you so much, a lot more than you can even imagine...” I had started out talking with a loud, clear voice, but by the end of my last sentence I have unravelled to the point where my crying is beyond control. I sniff, trying to compose myself, but I know I'm losing, so I shut my eyes as hard as I can and just let the sobs take over. I haven't said half the things I need to, I haven't even started, but for now I can't say another word. In the heart-wrenching silence that follows I wonder if anything I have said has gotten through to him, if he even cares. With my eyes still closed I can feel arms closing around me, how Richard brings me close to his own body, and with it an immense sense of relief washes over me. I let out something between a sob and a sigh of relief as I clap my arms around him, clinging to him just to keep myself upright.  
«It's okay. I need you too, Ronja,» he mumbles into my hair. He hugs me tightly, so much that it actually hurts my broken ribs a little, but I won't dream of pulling away from him; his embrace is all I want, I feel like I have longed for it my entire life. I sob loudly as I keep clinging on to him. «It's okay, Ron... We're here now, you and me. You're all right...» After a long while he pulls away and looks at me with kind and mild eyes that I have been missing so dearly. «Come on, let's go sit down,» he says, realising that my crying isn't going to subside any time soon. Too caught up in Richard I nearly stumble over my own feet. «Whoa, steady on!» He catches me, his arms closing around me again as he helps me regain balance and pulls me closer. I bury my face against his shoulder and neck for a moment, desperate for more closeness. «It's all right, love, I got you,» he says softly into my hair, then kisses my temple. With me practically hanging around his neck he shuffles towards the living-room. Once on the sofa he holds me close, patiently letting me cling to him as I cry. When my sobs have died down enough for me to maybe be able to talk, he clears his throat.   
«Ron...? How did you even manage to drive here?»  
«Slowly...» I sniff. «Thank fuck I have an automatic.» Richard laughs quietly.  
«I'm impressed, considering you could barely stand on your own two feet a couple of weeks ago. And very surprised to see you. Entirely in a good way, but surprised,» he adds, pulling away for a second to look down at me. We are still holding each other, I just seem unable to let go of him.  
«I'm sorry for just... showing up on your doorstep like this, but... I wasn't sure you'd talk to me if I tried to call, so--»  
«Ron, don't apologise, you don't have to-» he begins.  
«No, Richard, I do. And I need to say a few things.» Staring into blank space I fiddle absent-mindedly with a button on his shirt. “I should have come here earlier. I even thought about running after you when you came by my place, but I realised I... well, I physically couldn't. Then I just got so.. angry with you, and upset and stupid and offended and just so.. fucking proud. But eventually I realised that.. none of that really mattered, my pride wasn't worth shit because all it gave me was loneliness. Despite all my bloody independence and hurt pride, the bottom line is that I am just lonely and I miss you so fucking much. And I realise that you were right when... when you said that I push people away, acting like I don't need anyone. I've done that to people, and I did that to you. I'm the stupidest bloody person on earth for pushing you away. I'm sorry. But being able to need anyone is a luxury I haven't had since I was a kid, the people I needed were never there for me. And maybe I act this way because some part of me believes that I can't need anyone, because no one would ever need me. I mean, my family, my own mum didn't even need me, so why should anyone else? But that's on me, that's my issue, my upbringing and how people have treated me in the past, none of that is your fault. You're right, people probably have tried to be there for me, I've just... forgotten how to recognise that, and thought that I had to manage everything on my own, forever. Does any of this make any sense?» In the silence that follows Richard gives me a little squeeze, but says nothing as he gathers his thoughts.   
“Yeah, I think I get what you're saying,” he begins hesitantly. “I'm... I'm sorry I got so angry with you, and for leaving you in the state you were in, I hated myself for doing that... But you can be so incredibly frustrating sometimes! And I didn't know what to do, because... I need you so much, Ron, you have no idea. When I met you, I was so broken, I didn't even know how much until I met you. And you picked up the pieces and somehow put me back together again, I never could have done that without you. And ever since I met you, I've grown so reliant on you, on your company and support. But when you need someone like that, and you can't figure out if the other person needs you the same way, that's... difficult. It's confusing, and it hurts. And I hoped that you needed me too, that you were just too...”  
“..Stupid?” I supply when Richard pauses to try and find the right words.  
“Too damn proud,” he continues pointedly, “or too stubborn to admit it. And I couldn't think of any other way to make you realise that than to just... do what I did. Just walk out. I really wish I hadn't done it that way, I could have done things so much differently, I know that now. I should have just... refused to let you push me away, I should have sat down and said what you told me that time when I really broke down; that 'you're not going through this alone, I'm not leaving because I know you need me'. But the thing is that I.. wasn't sure, not one hundred percent. All I could do was hope that you needed me. My divorce left me with a lot of... insecurities, Ron. Lots of fears, I guess, and I was terrified that there might some chance that you really didn't need me. And if that turned out to be the case... If you didn't need me the same way I need you...” his voice fades away as he doesn't know how to finish the sentence. He is seemingly shrinking under his own insecurities next to me. His honesty and vulnerability has shocked me, but they've also stirred up a tornado of emotions so intense that I don't know what to do or say, all I want to do is sway his insecurities and reassure him, take away his fears. He has never talked this much about how he feels about me before, about us, the relationship between us, it's like a big bubble has burst and now everything is pouring out of him. That was always part of the problem; he never talked about it, and I could never figure out what was going on in his head, or his heart. If I had only known that all I had to say to him, to get him to talk, was how much I needed him, I would've said that months ago. But I hadn't thought it was that.. simple. It hadn't really occurred to me that he was scared, that he had these insecurities, because insecure isn't what you associate with Richard. He's energetic, full of life, funny, impulsive, a little tetchy, and mostly very kind, but always confident. I had let my own insecurities colour what I thought about him, thinking that he either didn't have any feelings for me, or, at best, that he didn't know what he was feeling.   
«You know... When I was brought into the hospital I was barely conscious, the nurses kept asking me questions and all I answered was incoherent gibberish. But when they asked if there was anyone they should contact, I said your name. I didn't even know who or where I was, but even then a part of me knew... Knew that I needed you. In stead of shutting you out I should have shown you how grateful I was that you were there for me, because I was. And I should have just admitted that I needed you, and that I wanted you there, because I really did.”  
“Yes, you should have,» he says, without a trace of anger or annoyance in his voice.   
«I am now...?» I straighten up, pull away from him a little, but only far enough to be able to look into his eyes.   
«Good,» he says, a small smile slowly spreading across his lips. Looking at him it is as if a searing heat of emotions somewhere in the heart of me explodes, spreading outwards, making my entire body glow. Everything inside me is screaming that I should kiss him, just grab him and kiss the hell out of him, and for a fleeting moment I wonder if he's thinking the same thing as his eyes flit down to my lips. In the space of fifteen minutes we've poured our hearts out to each other, apologised and told each other everything we needed to. Well, almost everything. And now it is as if some crippling shyness has suddenly come over both of us, paralysing us. A jab of pain through my ribs break through the slightly awkward silence and I can't help but pull a pained face. My body is protesting to everything; to sitting upright for hours, to driving here, to not feeding it more painkillers. «You all right?» Richard hurries to ask, running his hand over my back a few times.  
«Yeah, I'm just... Pain meds are wearing off, and my body prefers to not be sitting upright for hours on end,» I sigh.  
«Did you-- I mean, do you have to go home tonight?» He asks a little hesitantly.  
«I was kind of hoping that I wouldn't have to...» I mutter, biting my lip shyly at him.   
«No, of course you don't have to, I just thought that.. if you were staying, you could go have a lie down,» he hurries to explain.  
«That sounds like a good idea, frankly,» I admit, the thought of a soft bed to lie down in seems incredibly tempting. I'm exhausted, physically from having driven so far with mostly the wrong foot, and emotionally from crying and from having poured my heart out to Richard.  
«Did you bring anything, like a bag or...?»  
«Yeah, it's in the car. In case you didn't kick me out.” I give him a crooked smile.  
«Okay, I'll go get it, I'll take the dogs out for a wee, too.» He almost leaps out of his seat, and I look at him enviously.   
«I really miss the days when getting out of the sofa was that easy.” Richard giggles as he offers me a hand, helping me up, and for a fleeting moment I get a preview of how it feels to be 90 years old. I hobble stiffly after him and the pack of dogs into the hallway. Stopping by the foot of the stairs I give him my car-keys. «I might not make it to the top before you get back,» I warn, looking up the stairs as if it is mount Everest.  
«Do you want hel-» he begins, but the warning look I give him shuts him up instantly. «What am I saying, of course you don't need help up the stairs, I am such an idiot,» he jabbers, back-pedalling frantically. «Right, I'll be right back.» He turn and heads for the doorway, then stops abruptly. «You do know you're sleeping in my bed tonight, yeah..?»  
«Thanks for the clarification...» I smile, then immediately look down at my feet to try and hide the blush creeping up my neck. I hate and love this situation, it's new and awkward and exciting and awful, all at once. When he returns the smile I'm almost glad to see that it is a little shy. Without another word he wrenches the front door open and lets the dogs out, disappearing after them. Reaching Richard's bedroom I push aside the duvet haphazardly and wallow down on the bed, embarrassed to feel this exhausted just from sitting in a car. Lying still I can hear the sounds coming from outside, of the dogs barking, of Richard shouting something at them that they will just ignore anyway, then the car-door slamming and eventually, the front door closing. When Richard finally enters the room he's carrying my overnight bag and a few bottles of water. «Drugs. Gimme gimme,» I wave, gesturing after the bag, and Richard chuckles as he hands it to me. Having popped a few pills I lie back down as quickly as I can, closing my eyes and groaning a little. In the following silence I can hear Richard shuffling across the room, then sense that he lies down on the other side of the bed. Opening my eyes I look to my right, and am met with his slightly concerned gaze.   
«So, how's your... well, everything. I mean, I can see that you're in pain, but...» His voice fades out.  
«Yeah, I... try to wean myself off the pain medication, I want to stop taking them, but sometimes I just have to, like now. I don't like being dependent on them. My face is better, but my headache comes and goes. The ribs and clavicle are just... sore - I never knew sneezing could be such a painful event. And that pinky toe is actually really annoying, I thought that would be the least of my worries. But I don't mind the pain, it reminds me that I'm alive, and I know I'm lucky that I am.”  
“Alive is good. Alive is fantastic, actually,» he nods slowly, smiling at me, but I can see the traces of his concern behind it. Reaching out I take his hand in mine.  
“Richard, I... Really need to thank you. For being there when I woke up at the hospital. For being there for me. I can't imagine what it would have been like if I had woken up in that room and I'd been alone. I am so grateful for that, it really meant a lot to me. Having you there was such a huge comfort, it made me feel cared for and looked after, and I can't remember the last time I had that. It's been so long that having someone there was almost more scary than not having someone there.” Still holding his hand, I squeeze it a little to underline that I really mean it. Richard looks from our hands to me, piercing me with his eyes.   
“Ron... you don't have to thank me for that. Like you said to me once; I didn't really have a choice, I had to be there, I needed to.” Speaking softly he interlaces our fingers, like he always does, and brushes them softly against mine. The feeling sends a tingling through my arm that spreads to the rest of my body, my stomach swoops and my heart is pounding, instantly making my headache worse. But I ignore it, I am not letting go. “I promised myself that if you woke up, if you were okay.... I wouldn't hesitate to tell you how much I care about you. Life's too short, we both should know that better than anyone right now. And seeing you like that, broken and bruised... Gave me one hell of a reminder. So.. I want you to know that I care about you so bloody much, Ronja. You are the most important person in my life.” He speaks sincerely and honestly, caressing my hand all the while, albeit a little shakily.  
“I care just as much about you, Richard...” I reassure him, completely unable to stop myself from blushing. “In the hospital... you were the only one I wanted there with me.” Admitting this, I begin caressing his hand in return, our fingers playing with each other. For a moment we just look at each other, smiling a little. Another blush creeps up my neck again when I feel that I have stared soppily into his eyes for way too long. In an effort to stop staring at him, and stop my own blushing, I close my eyes and sigh.   
«You all right?» His voice is caring and mild.   
«Mm... Pain-meds starting to kick in. And, just getting here was a little... tiring,» I admit with another sigh. The exhaustion of the day's efforts has hit me with full force, and I feel like I am ready to sleep for a solid week.  
«Well, you were in a coma a couple of weeks ago, so I guess you're entitled to feel a little under the weather,» he observes, and even if I can't see him I can hear his teasing smirk through his voice. «Should you even be driving in your state?»  
«Hmm, probably not...» I admit. «Not on these pain meds, at any rate.» I speak slowly with my eyes closed, the pain medication and the comfort of Richard's company has made me relaxed, almost sleepy. But I am still holding his hand.  
“Ronja, are you going to sleep like that?”  
“Like what?” I mumble.  
“I mean... with all your clothes on. You know, normal people take off at least some of it and sleep under this fluffy thing called a duvet,» he points out dryly.   
“Undressing means having to get up, which in turn means effort, and not to mention pain. So no thanks,” I mutter, hating the thought of having to move much again. His hand disappears from mine, and the bed moves a little as he shifts on it, inching closer to me. I open my eyes to see him sitting next to me.   
“Here...” he says quietly, his hands finding the zip of my cardigan and begin pulling it downwards, gesturing that he wants to help take my clothes off. “Okay?” He's asking permission, and I only manage to nod, words suddenly beyond me. I assist him as best I can, pulling my “good” arm out of the sleeve and sit up enough to let him slide it under my back and off the arm on the side where my clavicle is broken. Underneath I have a tank top, and he winces in sympathy when he sees my exposed skin.“Bloody hell, Ron....” The parts of my chest, shoulder and arm that is visible is like a colourful, abstract painting in blues, purples and yellows. I pull up my top a little to show him how the bruising continues down my ribs and side.  
“Its getting better,” I say stoically, giving him a little smile. Deciding to leave my tank top on, he hooks his fingers inside the lining of my jogging bottoms, the only thing I can wear these days, and begins pulling them down. I raise my bum off the mattress as best I can to help him. He is slow and careful, there is nothing really sexual behind his actions, I know he's just trying to help. Even so, my heart beats like a drum and I'm holding my breath. I also notice how Richard can't help letting his eyes quickly sweep over my body before gently pulling the duvet over me. “There.”   
“Thanks...” I smile, getting comfortable.   
“I'll be right back. Do you need anything? Are you hungry, or...?»  
«No, thanks. I'm fine,» I smile. I seem unable to tear my eyes away from him as he gets out of bed and heads out of the room. I know he's heading downstairs to check on the dogs, then maybe to the bathroom. When he is out of view I close my eyes again, and lying there I realise that I'm still smiling. There is a strange mixture of happiness and anticipation inside me. Just being back here, being with Richard again, has made me happy, along with all the things he has said to me tonight. I impatiently wait for him to come back, I have more to say, and I'm hoping he might have too. Despite my restlessness I am almost nodding off when he returns, now wearing just his pyjama bottoms and nothing else. The sight makes my heart rate speed up, and my headache inevitably returns. He turns off a few lights, just leaving the lamps on night stand, then climbs into bed, pulling the duvet up to his chest.   
«I thought you were asleep,» he says, looking at me.   
«Almost,» I mumble, giving him a tired smile. Struck with sudden, daft bravery I clumsily move closer to him on the bed, a little handicapped by my injuries. Richard peers at me curiously, watching me inch closer to him. When I come right up to him he turns on his side, slips an arm under my neck and closes it around my back, drawing my body close to his. Nestled in his arms I wrap my arm around him, caressing his back. Even though he has seemingly welcomed me into his arms quite happily, I can't help but ask. “Is this okay?”  
“Very.” He smiles a little shyly and squeezes me gently. My heart is going a hundred miles a minute, beating so hard and fast I am worried he is going to hear it. Laying in Richards arms, feeling his body close to mine again, is amazing. But things are different know, we both know that. And even now, half naked in a bed, our arms wrapped around each other, we blush like teenagers when our eyes meet.   
«God, Ron, this is so ridiculously stupid!» He huffs, a little frustrated at our awkwardness. «I mean, considering everything we've said to each other tonight, we're still-» My body, seemingly disconnected from my brain and acting on its own accord, chooses that moment to do what I have wanted to do for an eternity. Cupping his face in my hand I press my lips against his, cutting his sentence short. Then I freeze, feeling like a bucket of ice cold water has just been poured over me, and I pull back hurriedly, stammering incoherent apologies. “God, I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have-”   
“Oh, shut up,” Richard huffs. His hand is on the side of my neck, drawing my face closer to his, then I feel his mouth against mine again. Our first few kisses are clumsy and frenzied, we are just head-butting our lips together as we both desperately try to let out all of our pent up emotions. My cheek and jaw is still a little sore from the crash, and the frantic kissing actually hurts a little.   
«Ow, ow, face,» I wince, but I don't pull away from him. He freezes in his tracks.  
«Sorry...» He mumbles, his mouth an inch from mine.   
«Don't be, just.. be gentle,» I whisper. When his lips meet mine again, his kiss is tender and soft, we open our mouths to each other, and one lingering kiss just seamlessly flows into the next one, and the next one. Richard lets out a soft hum, as if the pleasure and relief of kissing is too much. He buries a hand in my hair, the other is caressing my back, and I sense that he is holding back from kissing me harder. Eventually, and reluctantly, his lips leave mine, but he doesn't pull away, his hand is still cupping my face and his forehead is touching mine.   
“That felt... amazing,” he says, so quietly it is almost a whisper. We look into each other's eyes, studying each other, seeing each other in a whole new way. Caressing my jawline with his thumb he smiles at me. There is such tenderness in his eyes, so much warmth and love. He has looked at me this way many times before, I realise that now. But I didn't then, I hadn't been able to. I hadn't dared recognise it for what it was. I had never thought that the emotions I saw in him was meant for me. Looking at him I feel the familiar swoop of butterflies in my stomach and how my heart is thumping, but for the first time I can let those feelings inside me show on my face and in my eyes. Richard notices, and his smile spreads even wider. I hold my breath with anticipation as he leans towards me, slowly, his eyes flicking between my eyes and my lips.   
“Can I kiss you again?” He breathes.  
“I might hurt you if you don't,” I breathe back, leaning in even closer.  
“Only trying to be polite,” he chuckles before hurrying to close the final gap. He opens his mouth a little, taking my bottom lip in a soft, moist kiss that causes me to let out an involuntary wince. There is a little pain there, but the kiss drowns it out completely. We kiss slowly and deeply, only concerned with expressing our feelings for each other. I slide my hand over his shoulder and neck, then up into his hair, running my fingers through it, and he hums in response. Neither of us seem able to tear ourselves away from the other, but in the end we have to just to come up for air. We're both slightly out of breath when our eyes meet again, a blush flits across our faces and we smile a little embarrassedly. But then Richard's face turns serious, he sighs deeply and runs his fingertips over the side of my face.  
“God, Ron, I.. thought I had lost you, before I even had a chance to... In the hospital, I have never been so scared in my entire life, I though you'd never wake up. And I was so relieved when you did, and so happy. And then I thought I lost you again. The only thing I wanted was to be closer to you, but in stead I thought I had just... fucked up royally and pushed you away forever.” The concern for me, and his regret about what had happened, is visible in his eyes.  
“You haven't lost me, Richard, I'm right here,” I reassure him. Looking deeply into his eyes I caress his cheek with my thumb. «You mean everything to me, you know.» Admitting to this I blush once again, and curse privately. I'm not used to saying things like these, not to anyone, and I'm not used to talking this way with Richard. It is a sort of honesty and intimacy that I've craved for so long, but which takes some getting used to. We've been best mates for ages, probably even more than that, but neither of us is used to this, to being this way with each other.   
«I'm sorry, I just have to-» Richard begins with a little shake of his head, but he doesn't even have time to finish his apology before his lips are on mine again, kissing me. Giggling a little I happily kiss him back and wrap my arm tighter around him, holding him closer.   
«I can't believe I had to be hit by a bus to get you to do that,» I say when we finally pull apart again. Richard chuckles and rolls his eyes.   
«Well, I broke my face on an old Peugot, and you never kissed me!» He argues back light-heartedly.   
«Technically I did, actually, a little,» I argue back, smirking as I remember that little peck I had given him without thinking.  
«Pff, that hardly qualified as a kiss,» he sulks.  
«If you must know, I wanted to kiss you a lot more than that,» I admit shyly, biting my lower lip. «I just wasn't sure that you wanted me to.»   
«I did, I very, very much wanted you to. And I do now. Are we clear on that?» He raises a characteristic eyebrow, and I can't help but giggle at him.  
«Yes, we're clear,» I nod. I bury my face against his shoulder and neck, nuzzling his skin. Breathing deeply I take in his smell, feeling his warmth. He kisses the top of my head, and his hand caress my side lovingly.   
«I've missed you so much, Ron... I've always missed you,» he mumbles into my hair.   
«Always?»   
«Yeah... I always missed you from the second I wasn't with you. Sometimes I even missed you when you were there, because I... Couldn't be as close as I wanted to or tell you the things that was on my mind.»  
«Aaaw,» I croon at him, and the fact that this makes him blush makes him even more adorable. Stunned for words I stare at him for a long time, caressing the back of his neck all the while.   
«What are you thinking about?» He asks.  
«How I must still be in a coma and this is all just a dream.»   
«No, you're not in a coma, I swear. But, if you are, I promise you I will be there when you wake up and kiss you the first chance I get.»  
«Kiss me now...?» I breathe. He gives a little nod before taking my lips in a soft, tender kiss that nearly takes my breath away. With a deep sigh I rest my head against his arm, nuzzling the skin on his neck. Exhaustion is taking over, and I know I can't fight it for much longer. «I don't want to, but might fall asleep soon. I want to keep cuddling and kissing you,» I mumble sulkily.   
«Get some sleep, love. You need it. We can cuddle and kiss all day tomorrow?» He offers.   
«Just tomorrow?» I pull back and look up at him.   
«And every day after that,» he assures me. Settling for that I close my eyes, and he gives my forehead a kiss.


	26. The one with a lot of fluff.

Loud barking from downstairs wake me up. For a confused second the barking makes me confused, wondering where I am, then last night comes flooding back to me. I vaguely wonder what has set the dogs off like this, it is rare for them to bark at anything while inside the house. Opening my eyes I discover that the bed is empty, but I don't get long to ponder about where Richard has got to, because in the next moment I hear footsteps on the stairs, then a gentle knock on the door. The door opens and he pops his head inside.  
«Pssst. Ron..?» He whispers, in case I'm still asleep.  
«Mm?» I mumble, looking at him drowsily.   
«There's someone here to see you.» For a heart-stopping moment I am worried that an actual person is going to come in here and see me like this. But Richard just smiles and opens the door wider, letting Sprocket trot past him inside. The dog bounds towards the bed the instant he notices me. His appearance explains what made the other dogs bark downstairs. Richard still has him on a leash, holding him back so he can't pounce me and hurt me unwittingly.   
«Aaaw, hello boy, there you are!» I warble, already fighting against happy tears. He can barely contain his excitement as he reaches my bedside, his tail banging against the side of the bed, and he licks my hand and arm. But when I pat the bed next to me he clambers carefully into it is as if he knows that he has to be gentle. Lying down next to me he sniffs and licks my face, but is nowhere near as boisterous as I would have expected him to be considering he hasn't seen me for weeks. I wrap my good arm around him and bury my fingers and his face in his fur, letting myself cry a little. It is ridiculous how much you can love a dog, and how much you can miss it when you have to be away from it. «I'm sorry I've been away for a while, but I got a little hurt and couldn't take care of you properly..» I sob into his fur, talking to him as if he can understand every word I say to him. Seeing Sprocket has made me completely forget all about Richard, but I am reminded of his presence when I feel him climb into bed and inch up behind me. He wraps an arm around me, and for a while I enjoy just being wedged between him and my dog, feeling loved and cared for. «Thank you so very much for getting him...” I wrap my hand gratefully around Richard's where it is resting on my stomach.   
«You're welcome. I woke up a little early, and I... thought you might want to see him, I know how much you've missed him.»  
“I did, I've missed him a lot. Almost as much as I missed you.” Holding his hand isn't enough any more so I stiffly inch around around to face him, encumbered by my hurting ribs and shoulder. Untangling my hand from Sprocket's fur I caress the side of his face.  
“Good morning,” he smiles, his voice hushed. There is a tranquil happiness on his face that I haven't seen before.   
“Good morning,” I coo back at him, my heart fluttering in my chest. “What time is it?”  
“Eleven-ish. Did you sleep well?” He runs his fingertips over my temple and the side of my face, studying me.   
“Mhm,” I nod. “I didn't even notice when you got up.”  
“I was very quiet, I wanted to let you sleep. And I wanted to surprise you.” He speaks in a quiet, tender sort of way, his voice full of love and caring. It is the way I have always wanted him to talk to me. I smile at him and brush my fingertips over the skin at the nape of his neck.   
“How about you? Sleep okay?”  
“Mmno. I'd forgotten how badly you snore,” he says, looking like he regrets ever letting me back into his life. Then he breaks out into a goofy chuckle before turning a little more serious. “No, I slept good... Now that you were here with me.” Leaning in he brushes his nose against mine, then gives me a soft kiss which I return happily. “I've always slept better with you next to me,” he breathes, his face only inches from mine, then I receive another long, but gentle kiss. “By the way, Kristin wanted me to say hello.” He straightens up a little, as if he has to physically put some distance between us to be able to stop himself from kissing me.   
“What did she say when you came to pick Sprocket up?”  
“She was very glad to hear you were here, with me. She was worried, she knew you were at home and by yourself and that you wouldn't let me help you. I think 'thank god she finally came to her senses' were her exact words,” he chuckles. Then he gives me a shy little glance before distractedly starting to fiddle with Sprocket's fur. “I might have... told her some things... She knew something was up, she kept asking questions, and I... guess I needed someone to talk to. I've spent a fair few hours at her kitchen table lately crying into a cup of tea,” he confesses, looking at me as if he is half expecting me to be angry at him.   
“That is the least manly thing I have ever heard,” I tease, and he blushes a little but I don't get the giggle I am expecting. “That's okay, love, I don't mind that you've talked to her. I mean, I shut you out, I wasn't making anything easy for you, I know that... And I trust Kristin, she has lots of common sense,” I assure him, which makes Richard looking relieved. “So does she really dislike me now?” I ask, raising an innocent eyebrow.  
“No, no, of course not, don't be silly. She really likes you, she always has. But I guess she thinks that, and I'm inclined to agree with her on this, that you are a very very stubborn woman, possibly even monumentally pigheaded. And she couldn't understand how it was possible not to love me to death,” he adds with a self-satisfied little sniff.  
“Well, she was right. That isn't possible, as it turns out.” Even now I blush as I admit to something like this, to having feelings for him, to being crazy about him. Richard leans over me once again and places his lips against mine in an unhurried kiss. I am so engrossed with him and his lips that I don't even worry whether I have morning breath or not, or worry about anything else in the entire world for that matter. The moment is interrupted by Sprocket who, with his own canine sense of humour, decides to lick the side of my face, probably just to mimic what Richard is doing. Or maybe it is just a bid for attention, he's never seen me do this with Richard before and somehow feel like he needs to weigh in.  
“Oi. No. Bad dog,” Richard says, holding up a finger to Sprocket, but without any anger in his voice. “Mate, from now on I'm the only one who is allowed to lick her face. Okay? New rule.” My howls of laughter hurts my entire body, and Sprocket's look of doleful incomprehension only makes my fit of giggling worse.  
“Poor thing, no wonder he is a little confused. He isn't used to seeing us doing... that..” Looking up at Richard my eyes are drawn to his lips.   
“Kissing? He'll get used to it soon enough, it's not like I'm going to stop any time soon,” he assures me, proving that he means it by giving me another kiss.   
“Good,” I mumble, my voice muffled against his mouth.   
“So how are you feeling today?” The look of concern that I remember from the hospital is back on his face.   
“I don't know yet, to be honest. Right now I feel okay, but I won't quite know what sort of day I'm having until I've been out of bed for a bit,” I explain, forgetting that I have a bad shoulder and shrugging a little.   
“Okay. How about I go start breakfast, and you can gauge how you're feeling for a while. The weather is really nice outside, so I thought that if you're having a good day, we could take the dogs out for a little walk? Not far, just to the meadow maybe, if you're up for that. We won't have to have them on leashes for that and they can run around as much as they want.”   
“That sounds great.”   
“Great. But only if you're up for it,” he adds in a fussy manner and I nod dutifully. But instead of getting out of bed to start breakfast he leans in again, picking up where we left off before Sprocket interrupted. I sigh against his lips, wrap my arm around him and bury my hand into his hair, kissing him back as tenderly as I can. A wildfire of joy is raging through me, so intense I wonder if my body will be able to contain it. His hands run down my back and side, the side that isn't bruised, and lands on my hip. His fingers dig into my bare skin as he pulls me closer, and my heart does a little somersault in my chest. Sprocket chooses this moment to test Richard's patience again, but does it a little differently this time by licking _his_ face in stead. Abruptly Richard's lips disappears as his head snaps upright to look at the dog with an extremely exasperated air. He raises his finger to the dog again, but says nothing for a moment, pausing for comedic effect. “...No. Just. No.” I collapse into another fit of giggles.   
“Breakfast, was it?” I remind him, biting my lip.   
“Oh, yeah, right, breakfast. Come downstairs when you're ready.” Another quick peck on the lips, then he's gone. I get dressed as quickly as I am able to, run a comb through my hair and hobble downstairs. Looking outside at the blue skies dotted with fluffy clouds I decide that today is going to be a good day whether it really is or not, and that I am coming on the dog walk. I can't sit inside in this. So we scoff down a quick breakfast while trying to ignore the restless dogs in 'their room', they are all dying to go out. Opening the front door twenty minutes later is like releasing a herd of wild beasts, albeit a small one. Richard's pack are over the moon by seeing Sprocket again, and as most dogs their highest wish is to just go outside to play. We traipse out after them, Richard keeping a watchful eye on me as we wander around to the back of the house, over the grass along the fence. The pack eventually chases after us when they notice that we have set out a course.  
“Relax, Richard, I can still walk, my legs work just fine,” I tease when I've felt his eyes on me constantly for five minutes.   
“I know that, that isn't why I'm looking at you.” The fact that he averts his eyes and blushes a little makes him even more loveable, as if that was possible. Then he fumbles for my hand and takes it in his, interlacing our fingers. Knowing the route we are taking, the dogs run ahead of us on the path along a field, and through another field, leading to a big grassy meadow that we have taken them to many times before. It has old stone fencing along its edges, and a little creek running along one side. It's late June, the grass is bright green and there are flowers scattered across it, making it look like a little piece of heaven. While the dogs take off to explore we meander along the stone wall until we reach the middle where we will be able to keep an eye on most of the meadow. Still holding my hand, Richard sits down on the grass with his back against the stone fence, drawing me down with him. More than willing to be close to him again I sink into his lap and I wrap my good arm around the back of his neck, and for a while we just watch the dogs as they enjoy the meadow with all the sights and smells it has to offer. After a while, fingertips brushing over the back of my neck draws my attention. “So how was it to drive here?” His eyes are kind and full of understanding. I know what he means by that question; I was in an accident while driving a car, my car, and was badly hurt with no fault of my own. It would be easy to see why an experience like that could turn the act of driving into something traumatic.   
“It.. wasn't fun, to be honest. I was probably more nervous than the first time I ever drove a car. Thankfully the drive here is easy, it's just... motorway and county roads, not much traffic. I'm a lot more aware of other cars around me, now, and trust the drivers in them far less than I used to.”   
“No one can blame you for that, I think,” he says quietly, running his hand over my thigh.   
“To be honest I'm not sure I would've been able to do it if it meant having to go through a major city or a bunch of traffic lights.”  
“So you're basically glad I live here and not in London?”   
“Yes. But I probably would have driven anywhere last night just to see you...” I can feel a little blush creeping up my neck as I admit to this. “I just wish I had done it sooner.” Richard says nothing, just gives a low hum, hugs me tighter and keeps caressing my thigh.  
“You know, I'm having one of those moments.” Richard breaks what has been a long and serene silence in which I have just enjoyed the sun, the breeze on my face and the feel of his arms around me.   
“Hm, what?”  
“When we were in Rome, on that hotel balcony, you said that was perfect, remember? I'm having one of those moments. This place, the sunshine, those happy idiots larking about..” He nods in the direction of the dogs, then his eyes meet mine. “And you. Most importantly you, having you here, in my arms, finally. This is perfect, I could stay here forever.” I realise I've stared at him with my mouth slightly open as he talked. And now, all I can do is close it, and swallow, and try my best not to cry.  
“I agree. This moment is way better than on the balcony in Rome,” I say quietly, brushing my fingertips over the back of his neck. “Mostly because in Rome, I couldn't do this...” Cupping his face in my hand I lean down to kiss him, and I smile against his lips as he hums and kisses me eagerly back. 

We head back to the house when the dogs seem to have run off the worst of their excess energy. Back in the kitchen Richard busies himself with making tea while I pet and talk to the dogs, having missed being around animals.   
“Ron? Are you okay? You look a little pale...” He observes as he places the tea-mug in front of me on the table. Sitting down next to me he runs his hand over my forehead in a fussy, paternal manner.   
“I don't know, pains are acting up, my head is aching. And I feel so bloody tired. I just want to take some pills and have a nap...” I complain, resenting the weakness I am feeling.   
“Then go lie down, love?” He suggests mildly.   
“But it's boring...” I pout, realising that I sound like Jeremy. At this he just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I feel like a bloody infant, I can't seem to make it through the day without having a two hour nap in the middle of it.”   
“I know what that feels like; I was pretty much the same way after my accident. But Ron... The last time I saw you up and about was what, ten days ago, in the hospital? And as far as I can remember from that you could _barely_ walk, and certainly not without a bit of help. I think it's amazing how far you've come since then,” he says, trying his best to sound encouraging.  
“Yeah, when you put it like that... All right, I'll go lie down. I'll just have a shower first,” I mumble moodily, sighing and hanging my head.  
“Listen, I know you feel weak and not like yourself, but it's still early days, and you have to give this time, Ronja. You will get better, but only by taking care of yourself,” he admonishes. I know I should listen to him, he is after all the one of us who has experience with recovering from a major accident.   
“I thought you were going to take care of me?” I look up at him with my best puppy-dog eyes.   
“Yes I am.” He straightens up, drawing up a more authoritarian air. “Which is why I'm telling you to _go have a nap_.” With a smile he drops the act and leans in to give me a kiss. “Now go on.” I kiss him back and does as I am told; I drag my tired body upstairs and have a shower, if anything it might help with sore and achey muscles. Wearing just a pair of knickers and an oversized t-shirt I crawl into Richard's bed and curl up, resting my head against a towel draped over the pillow. I know I can't sleep, not yet, until the pills have taken effect. A huge part of me doesn't want to sleep either, because going to sleep means losing time with Richard. And right now I don't want to lose another minute with him. Which sounds stupid, and like a well-worn cliché, but that doesn't make it any less true. After having known each other for over a year, and after all our ups and downs, we have finally ended up where I have always hoped we would: together. And having hoped and waited for that for so long makes me not want to lose out on anything, not a single moment. Just as I am thinking these things, the door to the bedroom opens slowly. Wordlessly Richard crosses the floor and crawls into bed, inching up to me and under my duvet. With his chest against my back he drapes an arm over my waist, and as if he has done it thousands of times before he slips a hand under my t-shirt and caresses the skin on my stomach with a feather-light touch. Goosebumps immediately spreads over my body.  
“What are you doing...?” I mumble drowsily.   
“I am going to lie here and hold you and cuddle you until you fall asleep,” he announces matter-of-factly. “I seem to remember I promised you cuddling all day.”   
“Oh. Thank you.” I don't have any objections to that.   
“Mmm, my pleasure,” he hums.  
“Don't let me sleep more than two hours, please?”  
“All right.” 

I am awoken not by Richard's voice, as I would have expected, but by a plonk on my phone. Before I even open my eyes I know that the bed is empty, and that I have been asleep for quite a while; the stiffness of my joints inform me of that. Picking up my phone from the bed beside me I discover that the sound was caused by a text message from Richard.   
_'It's been two hours, you should wake up now.'_ I frown at the screen, wondering if he's gone mad. For a moment I just listen, trying to hear any sounds coming from the rest of the house that might tell me if Richard might not be home. Then I start tapping away.   
_'Thank you, but why couldn't you have just come upstairs and woken me up yourself?'_ Having sent the text I try to listen for the sound of it arriving on Richard's phone, but I hear nothing, and so I put my own phone down, deciding not to get out of bed until I get an explanation.   
_'Too far to walk. Come down now?'_ I snort at the phone and type a quick 'yeah yeah' in response, then set about trying to get my battered body up and out of bed. Once that is accomplished I dig a fresh pair of baggy trousers out of my bag, change the oversized t-shirt for a slightly more formfitting top and totter out of the bedroom, feeling achey. I am slightly regretting having pushed myself out on that walk earlier, but I hadn't been able to pass it up. As soon as I open the door to the corridor I am met by a wave of pleasant smells. _Aaaw, he's made dinner,_ I think to myself. But reaching the top of the stairs I come to a complete halt, my mouth falling open slightly. At the foot of the stairs is Richard, wearing a crisp white shirt, the grey jacket from the suit I love so much, and a pair of dark grey jeans. He's sorted out his hair more than he normally would do around me, and in his hands is a bouquet of huge, red roses. Unable to take my eyes off him I slowly make my way down the stairs, trying to control a wave of nervous excitement that has caused my palms go clammy and my heart to race. He is the most handsome man I've ever laid my eyes on, and I fear my knees are going to buckle under me.   
“What is all this?” I squeak as I come to a halt a few steps from the bottom. He clears his throat and averts his eyes for a moment, shuffling a little nervously.   
“I was wondering if maybe... you would go on a date? ..With me?” He adds, as if that bit wasn't really clear. I cock my head to one side, looking at him a little questioningly. “I mean... You and I have known each other for a while and we're probably way beyond the stages of dating by now, technically. We've done lots of things together, but... we've never been on a date. And I don't want to skip on all the romantic bits just because we know each other pretty well already. Besides, I've wanted to ask you out on a date since.. probably the first time I ever saw you, to be honest, so... I want you to come on a date with me. If you want to?” He adds, as if he's genuinely worried I might turn him down.  
“.. R-r-right now?” Is all I manage to stammer. My brain isn't working, the mere sight of him has shut it down. But judging by the flowers and his clothing that is what he means. “I'm not exactly dressed for a date...”   
“Yeah, right now,” he nods, breaking out into a relieved grin. “You know, you don't have to worry about that. The place we're going to, it's rather secluded and... private. Luckily it isn't far from here, and I'm sure it'll just be the two of us. I've booked us a table outdoors as well, it's a nice place. And it has a very, very relaxed dress code. I'm not so sure about the chef, though, he doesn't have that much experience but he does try his very best, bless him.” He talks as if he is referring to a real restaurant, but from what he is saying I deduce that we are going to stay by the house and that the chef he's referring to is most likely himself.   
“That sounds lovely.” My grin is so wide it almost hurts my cheeks.   
“So is that a yes?”  
“Of course it is, silly.”   
“Good. Great. Fantastic,” he jabbers. “Here, these are for you.” He holds up the bouquet of flowers with an air of chivalry, and I accept them with slightly feigned surprise, pretending to not have noticed them until now.   
“Aaaw, wow, look at these. They are absolutely gorgeous, thank you so much.” My first instinct is to shower him with kisses, but instead I ascend the two last steps of the stairs and wrap my good arm around him, giving him a long hug. The smell of him reminds me of the first time I saw him in a suit, when I was babysitting the puppies, and it brings me back to a time where all I could do was keep everything inside and hope that maybe, one day, our relationship would change. Pulling back I eye him up and down. “You look... incredibly handsome, I am barely able to string words into sentences here,” I stammer, fanning my face with a hand, feeling the blush creeping up my neck.   
“Thank you,” he smiles, blinking a little at me.   
“I feel like a complete bum...” I shrug a little sadly. Shaking his head a little he takes a step forwards.   
“You're not. You just got out of bed, and you were in a huge accident not so long ago. But I still think you're gorgeous.” It is my turn to blink at him, my blush becoming several times worse. I can't even get myself to say thank you, all I can think to do is place a hand on his cheek and lean in for a kiss. When I am about halfway Richard gives me a mischievous smirk. “Are you going to kiss me before you even know how our first date went?” This makes me freeze, then pull back sharply.  
“No no, of course not, I'm not that easy,” I smirk back, and he chuckles his goofy laugh.   
“Ready to go?” He proffers his arm to me, and I take it with a nod and a little curtsy, then let him lead me through the house. The main living-room has windows and glass-doors giving a great view of the outdoor patio and the garden behind the house. The doors are open, and through them I can see what Richard had meant by having booked an 'outdoor table'. On the patio there is a beautifully set dining table, complete with candles. Scattered around the patio there are a few lanterns with more candles in them, hanging from the rafters of the roof and scattered along the edges of the tiled patio floor. Once again my jaw falls open.   
“I thought you only had tea-lights?” I breathe stupidly, staring at the romantic scene. The sun is setting and the peaceful dogs are scattered across the patio, framing everything perfectly.   
“I did! … Until today,” he admits.   
“When on earth did you have time to go candle-shopping? And not to mention getting the flowers?”   
“I got some of it this morning, when I was out to get Sprocket; like the candles and the food. He promised he wouldn't tell on me. And you're a heavy sleeper. I was out the door the moment I was sure you had conked out, bought the flowers.”  
“I think you've had help.” I narrow my eyes, staring him down, and he squirms a little as he tries to look innocent, but he caves quickly.  
“All right, Kristin provided some creativity and a bit of moral support. And all these lanterns are hers,” he adds. Admitting to this doesn't make me think any less of what Richard has done for me, I am still overwhelmed by it all.  
“I can't believe you did all this.”  
“I only do things like this for people who deserve it,” he says. Running a hand over the small of my back he gives me a look full of admiration.   
“What did I do to deserve this?” I frown.  
“Well, getting hit by a bus and surviving makes me think you deserve it,” he remarks dryly, resulting in an abrupt and slightly painful chuckle from me. “Now go on, have a seat.” Like a gentleman he escorts me to my chair and helps me sit down. “I wasn't sure if you'd want wine or something... else?” He asks.   
“Wine would be great, actually, thanks. But I think I probably shouldn't have more than one or two glasses though, not on these meds...”  
“Okay.. I'll go get us some wine, and some food. And put these in water.” He returns with the flowers in a vase and places them on the table along with two wineglasses and an opened bottle. It turns out that he has spent most of the two hours I've been asleep making a fantastic salad and a lovely pasta carbonara, leaving me rather impressed with his cooking abilities. By the time we had finished our food, and I my allotted two glasses of wine, the sun had already set and a chill was on the air. Dinner had taken quite a while, considerably slowed by long conversations and much laughter. Having finished I help him carry everything back into the kitchen as best I can. He tries to refuse, but it is the least I can do considering everything he has done for me. But after a while I am sternly ordered back outside to sit on the sofa, on the premise that if I do as he says, I will get dessert. So I comply and head back outside. Right outside the balcony doors there is a comfortable outdoor sofa, its back against the windows of the living-room. The dogs have all piled themselves together by the balcony door, fast asleep now that the tempting dinner has magically disappeared. Eager to qualify for dessert I sit down on the sofa and curl my legs up, feeling a little cold. When Richard appears he is balancing two plates which he deposits on the little table in front of me. He also has a huge blanket tucked under one arm, and before sitting down he drapes it over my shoulders, having guessed that I might be cold. Then he sits down and hands me a plate with a huge slice of cake on it.  
“Carrot cake. Courtesy of Kristin, I will freely admit,” he says, showing up his palm to me. “You should consider yourself lucky I didn't try my hand at baking.”  
“You are very, very good at this, you know that?”   
“At what?” He mumbles, eyebrows raised and a mouth full of cake.   
“At this. The whole dating thing. I mean... Cooking food, the table you set out here, all the lights, the flowers...” A little, evil voice inside me thinks that he must've done this many times before, with other women, but it seems like such a petty question to ask.   
“So I'm doing good...?” Once again he lets his insecurities shine through. “I mean, normally I'm not very creative I guess, I would just take a girl out to dinner, somewhere fancy, maybe see a show or.. something. I'm not very good at... romantic things like this.”  
“Oh come on, taking someone out to a good dinner and maybe see a concert or a show, that's plenty romantic. You're not giving yourself enough credit, I mean... What you did with me, taking me to Italy, I thought that was incredibly romantic, even though that probably wasn't your intention...”  
“You know, In a way.. it sort of was,” he mumbles. “In Italy, had meant to tell you... But I... wussed out.” He seems so flustered and awkward I don't have the heart to push him on the subject.  
“This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. You're doing perfect,” I smile, then pop a fork full of cake into my mouth. “I mean, I don't think anyone has even bought me roses before,” I add.   
“So you're saying that all I had to do to impress you was basically just buy you a bunch of flowers? And all of this was completely unnecessary?” He complains.   
“Pretty much.” I give him an apologetic shrug, and we both laugh. Having emptied my own plate, I take Richard's plate out of his hands and place them both on the table. I've kept my hands off him for far too long, and so I inch closer to him on the sofa and wrap my blanket around his shoulders as well, cocooning both of us in it, and he takes me into his arms. “I know this date isn't technically over yet, but...” With my hand on the side of his neck I draw him in, staring deeply into his eyes. Gently pressing my lips against his I kiss him like this really is our first date, and this is to be our first kiss, the one we will always remember. He returns the kiss with the same level of emotion, making me shudder. Still kissing me he pulls the blanket even tighter around both of us, almost over our heads, drawing me even closer. We giggle as our kisses intensifies, nibbling and playing with each others lips. Eventually managing to pull away from him I rest my head against his shoulder and neck, and for a while we sit there and just hold each other, keeping each other warm under the blanket. The tranquillity of the moment is slightly ruined by Captain, the little Jack Russell terrier, who suddenly jumps up into the sofa and optimistically stomps his way into our laps, trying to find a way to burrow himself under our blanket and squeeze in between us. Our blanket bundle had obviously seemed far warmer and more tempting to him than the pile of dogs he'd been a part of minutes before. “This must be what it's like having kids,” I giggle as Captains' paws and nose digs and shoves at my trouser leg as he's trying to make my lap into a nest.   
“Yeah... Jealous, naughty, furry ones!” He says, looking down at his dog with exasperation. Slumping down into a ball in my lap Captain sighs with content and looks up at his owner with the innocence that only a dog can muster. I wrap a bit of my blanket over him so only his head sticks out. “Spoiled little bugger,” Richard mutters, scratching the dog behind an ear. Then he shifts his attention to me, and runs his fingers through my hair as he looks at me. “We should probably head inside, too. It's getting cold and you look like you could use a lie down soon,” he says paternally. As much as would want to stay out here forever, under this blanket and in his arms, I have to concede that he is right, I can already feel the energy draining out of me and know that I'll want to go to bed soon.   
“Yeah, okay...” I sigh. “I'll help you tidy up the rest in the kitchen and then go to bed,” I offer.   
“No,” he says flatly.   
“I'll take the dogs out for a last wee?” I try.   
“Nope.” He shakes his head a couple of times.   
“I'll go upstairs, take my tablets and crawl into bed like a good girl?”  
“Now you're catching on!” Knowing how stubborn Richard can be I see no point in even trying to argue. I'm stubborn too, but I really don't have a reason to fight him on this. All he has wanted to do is be there for me, to help me out and be allowed to take care of me, to feel like I need him. If ordering me around and not letting me do anything but rest can help with that, then I'm okay with listening to him. Which is why I potter upstairs the minute we head inside, leaving Richard with the tidying up. I dutifully take my pills, brush my teeth and crawl into bed, slightly resenting being back in it so soon. Having such little endurance when it comes to just being awake is something I am still not used to, and probably never will be. Lying there I can hear the sounds coming from downstairs, of Richard clattering in the kitchen, the sink running, the dogs pattering around, and with the noises a sudden sense of security washes through me. Ever since I got out of the hospital, since I had pushed Richard away from me, I had lived in a constant state of anxiety. To varying degrees, admittedly, but that vague sense of unease was always present, that feeling of just not being safe. Missing the comfort of Sprocket's presence hadn't helped either. The nights had always been the worst, I would lie there in the dark and listen to the silence and my own heart racing in my chest, jumping at the tiniest little sound. I couldn't even pinpoint exactly what I was scared of, I just _was_. But now, hearing the comforting sounds in the house, the sounds of having someone else around, someone who wants to take care of me, I feel a warmth spread through me. Now I feel sheltered, protected and watched over. The immense relief of suddenly feeling this way overwhelms me for a moment, causing me to shed a few tears, mostly out of gratitude. After what had felt like an eternity of impatient waiting, the bedroom door finally opens and Richard crosses the floor on light, quiet feet.   
“I'm not sleeping yet,” I whisper as he gets into bed. He takes this opportunity to gently move closer, feeling his way as he can't see me in the darkness of the room.   
“Why not?” He asks, having inched right up to me and draped his arm over my waist.  
“I was waiting for you.” I go on the hunt for his lips in the dark, finding his jaw bone at first and trailing kisses across it and his cheek until my mouth meet his.   
“Hmm, I think I'm glad you weren't sleeping yet,” he mumbles, and in the dark I can't see but I can feel his little smile against my lips. Silence falls between us, but his hand is caressing my back, and every now and then he brushes his nose lightly over mine or give me a feather-light kiss. I try to fight it, unwilling to miss out on a single touch or kiss from him, but far quicker than I want to he manages to lull me into sleep.


End file.
